


Mercy

by kriadydragon



Category: Stargate: Atlantis
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-06
Updated: 2006-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-16 20:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 111,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriadydragon/pseuds/kriadydragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A/N: This little ditty wouldn't leave my head. Those bloody muses! Can't decide if I want to hug them or smack them upside the head. They're obsessive, you see. John just wasn't insane enough in my other stories.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This little ditty wouldn't leave my head. Those bloody muses! Can't decide if I want to hug them or smack them upside the head. They're obsessive, you see. John just wasn't insane enough in my other stories.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheppard hates it, doesn't even realize it's happening, but pity is what's going to save his life.

**1**   


The techs would chew him a new one if they saw him now. Feet propped up on the dialing console, chair tilted back, hands clasped behind his head; John was the epitome of stoic. He had a grin all ready for the reprimand, but the wait was going to be a long one. Not a tech was in sight.

Elizabeth had yet to say anything. Her stance was antithesis to John. Stiff back, folded arms, and lips pressed in a hard, straight line. She was giving the gate stares that could have burned holes through it.

" Come on," John urged. He caught the slight whining tenor to his own voice, and cringed at it. " You can't stay this pissed off forever."

Elizabeth's only reaction was to blink. " I can... and I will. Don't tell me what I can and can't do, John. I'm your superior, you're my subordinate."

She was merely stating a fact, a fact that stung and finally got John to lose the grin. The words didn't sound like Weir, didn't fit her, and it made John's chest tighten with an invisible vice. He dropped his feet to the floor and sat straighter like a man at attention, giving due to his _superior_. " This has nothing to do with chain of command, Elizabeth. This has to do with the fact that you can't bend the universe to your will. Giving everything the cold shoulder's only good for getting a headache. You can't stay like this, you have to move on."

" No." It was blunt, sharp as a knife that pricked John and made him wince.

" Why not?" he demanded.

" Would you?"

She had him there. Hell no he wouldn't. He would keep going, keep searching, keep clinging to 'leave no man behind' like it was his weapon of choice. But then there would be someone else spouting the lines of 'let go' and 'move on'. Probably McKay, or Teyla, most likely Ronon. Where were they, anyways?

John rose and went over to Elizabeth. He placed his hand on her shoulder, felt her go rigid as ice, and just as cold.

John wasn't supposed to beg, but now was not the time to let his pride call the shots. " Elizabeth, please..."

" No, John."

John's hand, even on Weir's shoulder, was unsteady, and the tremor crawled up his arm to spread through the rest of his body, taking the cold with it.

He was so freakin' cold.

" You're not helping," he said, sounding so desperate it floored him.

" I am John," Weir said. " I know I am. I'm all you have to hold onto..."

SGA

Rough hands, rough holds, grabs to his arms, his shoulders, gripping, squeezing, jerking, and backed up by the piercing shouts in his ears. John burst from his dream with a gasp and eyes snapping open.

" Get up you bony little...!"

No, no, no, no, no, he almost had it, almost grasped it. It was right there – a figure, a name. E... something. Wire, Wayne, Wur? Wrong, wrong, all wrong, too bloody wrong! Who liked to say bloody? Someone liked to say bloody. The man with a funny voice, yes, with a name starting with M... no, that was the other one... R... No! Wrong, always wrong! Close enough to touch, this time, and they came. Not again! Not freakin' again!

Panting, struggling, John snarled, whirled around, and lunged.

SGA

Kace rubbed his hand back and forth over his scalp. Nothing smooth about his skull anymore with the fine, pricking stubble coming in. It had its merits as being a handy way to scratch his palm, but the more hair that came in, the better cover the minuscule vermin would have, and then his time would be wasted trying to pick the little suckers out.

Kace's scalp rubbing produced a scraping sound resounding hollowly in his skull and amplified by the slick stone walls of the cell. Moisture had his shirt plenty soaked and his back itching. He shifted to rub his back against the stones, making the rusty bed squeak out like it was in pain. It was a sharp sound, still echoing long after the fact through the corridor of barred cells. Kace flicked his eyes to the bars and into the hall, then back to the body curled like a sleeping cur on the bed across from him.

He envied his cell mate's sleeping habits. Kace never had an easy time at reaching the deeper levels of unconsciousness normally associated with sleep. Kace's mind was too busy to give into incoherence. The thick dreams this man was experiencing was making the ambient around Kace vibrate, and it was leaving a taste on his tongue – something both sweet and bitter.

No happy wakings for Sheppard, not this time, probably not ever again. A gasp and a shudder was the usual form of waking, but Gorek and his brutes would be dropping in soon, and their manner of waking Sheppard tended to produce amusing aftershocks.

Kace smirked in slight anticipation. He wasn't normally a brutal man, but advantage and necessity usually called for a cold disposition, and he could use this scrawny, wild man's insanity to his advantage.

Kace was tempted to take a little peek into Sheppard's mind and catch a glimpse of these dreams that had him moaning, whimpering and begging some nights, or completely still on others. But dreams tended to be fragmented and fast, as well as a waste of energy. To probe the man's mind while awake was dangerous enough, being unstable as it was. Kace could probably snatch snippets of thoughts and still be safe, but not yet, not in this place and under these conditions. Kace had only read enough of Sheppard's mind to determine if having one eye open was required while sleeping.

The images had come fast, so fast that Kace didn't recall them. What he had felt had left him shaken. Strong fear, strong loss, strong confusion, and even stronger pain. Then by mere observation alone, Kace had determined that as long as he left Sheppard alone, Sheppard would leave him alone.

Sheppard had been here before Kace. For how long exactly, Kace couldn't say. Too long, because the man didn't look as though he'd last much longer. Kace's own arrival had been four days ago, dragged in on a trumpped up charge of shop lifting from a decrepit food stand selling shriveled, sour fruit. All part of the plan, of course. Now that he was where he wanted to be, the rest he was improvising, because Sheppard had presented him with a much better alternative to his original idea of jumping the warden and knocking him out. Now that idea had been pushing fate.

Sheppard was proof that first impressions were excepted only by idiots. Being shoved into a cell and finding the solitary, emaciated, apparently brain-dead man huddled in the corner staring at nothing with eyes that looked to be made of glass, had Kace both laughing and considering to side-step a mind scan this time around. He was glad he'd done the scan, because it had left him uneasy. Always wise to know what he was up against.

After that, things got interesting, and Kace found himself admiring the skinny fellow.

Gorek and the thugs had called the man Sheppard and only Sheppard. Sheppard was tall, though Kace was a quarter of an inch taller, not to mention three years older. Kace had gotten an age somewhere within the scan, popping into his own head like an epiphany. Opposites didn't stop there. Kace relied on brains and brawn, and kept the muscles of his body thick. Kace's scan had given him a few glimpses of a once lean man, healthy, strong, but slender. That was getting eaten away now, and Sheppard wasn't that man anymore.

Kace studied Sheppard's back, the arch of the ribcage discernible through the thin, ragged, dirt brown excuse for a long-sleeved and hooded shirt, mottled in holes and dried blood. He didn't seem to be breathing. Kace, however, knew better than to check for a pulse. Sheppard was alive, Kace could feel it, and if he closed his eyes and listened hard enough, he could hear the heart beating. Outside sensory was his specialty, it had to be in his profession. Sensing a body before he saw it was why he was still alive today.

A clank and a thunk echoed toward Kace, and he rolled his head toward the bars of the cell. Tromping, growing louder as it grew closer. Gorek, the over-muscled behemoth with the cropped black hair and the square jaw, stepped into sight, stiff-backed and expressionless. Behind him were the thugs – four this time around - mimicking Gorek from the black uniform to the close-cropped hair. Kace curled his lips back from his teeth in a lazy grin, and tilted his chin up in greeting.

" Gorek, you're early. Busy day ahead?"

Gorek narrowed his eyes at Kace, then slapped his palm on the lock. There followed a click, and Gorek was able to yanked the cell door open hard enough to nearly rip it from its hinges. He didn't say anything, just went to Sheppard's bed.

Kace sighed. " I wouldn't do that..."

The thugs followed in, surrounding Sheppard, giving him a deceptively fragile appearance around so much muscle. One grabbed Sheppard's arm and jerked it. Sheppard jerked it back, rolling into a tighter ball. Sneering, the thug tried again, grabbing both arms, another taking Sheppard's shoulders. What followed was an explosion of chaos when Sheppard began struggling. The guards pulled on him, yelled, called him vicious names. That's when Sheppard whipped around and lunged to send the blond guard to the floor with Sheppard on top, straddling the chest as he let his fists fly. He got in a few good slugs that drew blood from the nose, snarling and letting loose cries that were better off being called roars. It took Gorek and the other four to pull Sheppard off. Halfway up, Sheppard turned with another roar to take down the brown haired giant, battering away with eyes wide and animal wild in the pale, shadowed face. The intent of the blows was to kill - no doubt, no question. Rage rolled off Sheppard like heat from a blaze one foot away from Kace. The skinny man wanted blood.

The next time Gorek and the rest pulled Sheppard up, they threw him back-first into the wall. Kace flinched at the impact that knocked the wind from Sheppard's lungs, and the animal madness from his eyes. He slid stunned down the wall, panting with a heaving chest. Gorek, seething, stalked over to the slimmer man now on the floor, grabbing him by the throat and hauling him to his feet. Kace actually shrank back, knowing what was coming next.

Gorek reached to the holster strapped to his waist and removed a palm-sized device with a small, metal node on one end. He pressed this to Sheppard's temple, and switched it on with his thumb. Sheppard's body went rigid as a tree. He arched his back, opened his mouth, and screamed until his lungs emptied of air and he couldn't draw any back in. Gorek smirked.

Pain had tackled anger out the door. It didn't roll off Sheppard, it shot off him, piercing Kace's skin with shards of ice that cut into his veins to run with his blood. Then it was gone, done, and Sheppard's body went limp in Gorek's hand. Gorek opened his fingers to let Sheppard drop into a panting, shuddering, twitching heap on the floor.

" That was bad, Sheppard," Gorek reprimanded as though Sheppard were little more than a child. " Very, very, _bad_!" He kicked John in the chest. The shot of pain was knife sharp now. " What have we told you about that! Your meals will be reduced..."

Kace stiffened at that. " Hey, you already cut his meals. The man's gotta eat..."

Kace's efforts resulted in a fist to telepath's own face that snapped his head around.

" Shut up!" the meat head blond barked, spraying blood out his nose. Kace gave him a bored look while rubbing his now tenderized jaw.

" I was just saying..."

" Well don't," Gorek growled. The man always fancied himself as being half-animal. But animal was more Sheppard's state of being, or would be if he was moving. The blond with the bleeding face and the brown haired meat-head took each of Sheppard's arms and began dragging him from the cell. Kace could only watch as they removed him, then pulled him to his feet with head lolling limply on the useless neck. There would be a nasty bruise on Sheppard's back, adding to the collection of bruises and lashes Kace always glimpsed through the holes in the shirt. Play time was only fun for the thugs. Kace saw through the meat-heads what was done with Sheppard. Something about the skeletal man made him rather unique, something in or on his body. Devices alien in origin activated under his touch, even within his mere presence, like a pet waking at its master's return. He'd seen images of Sheppard commanded to touch this and touch that. If he didn't – it wasn't pretty, and Kace usually stopped the scan when the images turned to kicks, punches, whip-lashes, and that brain scrambling device. Mostly the brain scrambling device.

Gorek flashed Kace a dangerous glare before stepping out and slamming the cell door shut behind.

Kace waited until they were beyond sight, then reached beneath the stained mattress to pull out the nearly straightened coil of wire he'd finally managed to twist and pull from the rusty bed. He began bending it with grunts and gritted teeth, straightening it another few inches. A few inches more, and it would be long enough.

He heard a scream that made him pause.

Kace sighed. It wouldn't be too long before he was out of here. A day more, two days at most. He just hoped his new buddy Shep survived long enough to put the escape into action. Kace was relying on him now, because he wasn't in the mood to do things the hard way.

SGA

A/N: My cruelty knows no bounds. Massive whump ahead. Don't be mad, John, you'll live. More revealed in the next chapter. And the team will be there.


	2. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Allies spoilers, so beware! If someone would like to do a companion piece to this on how Ronon and Rodney got away, please do, and you may connect it to my story in some way if you wish. Thanks to Chokolaj for filling me in on what the spoilers didn't tell me. It's given me much more to work with that should help better the story as a whole.

A/N: Allies spoilers, so beware! If someone would like to do a companion piece to this on how Ronon and Rodney got away, please do, and you may connect it to my story in some way if you wish. Thanks to Chokolaj for filling me in on what the spoilers didn't tell me. It's given me much more to work with that should help better the story as a whole.

I am so buying the second season.

  
**2**   


" This is stupid," Rodney ground out. " Stupid, stupid, pointless, stupid, waste of time, stupid..." he paused in his frenetic typing to look up, yet kept his back to Teyla. " Did I mention this was stupid?"

This wasn't the cold shoulder. Teyla knew Rodney well enough to know a cold shoulder from aggravated avoidance. Cold shoulders usually involved drawn out silences broken only by Rodney in a burst of ranting fury. He'd had his burst – once, twice – four times in total – and was all (as Zelenka had put it) 'burst-out'. Perhaps the talks with Heightmeyer had helped, or perhaps he was drained of the energy needed to feed his anger. Or perhaps he finally realized that anger did not turn back the clock, or bring back the dead.

Teyla sighed, folding her arms. " Yes, Dr. McKay."

McKay's fingers returned to their incessant clacking on the laptop. " More stupid trade, pointless bartering, haggling, always with the same outcome of universe proportion prices to be paid because we're so pathetically desperate and our interplanetary shopkeepers aren't. Time could be spent on much better pursuits than dead-end shopping for Ancient crap that had probably ended up on that world in the first place because the Ancient's were the first to grasp the concept of a 'garage sale.' We have work here that needs to be done, like tracking the wraith, hunting them down, and blowing them all to hell before they hop, skip, and jump on over to the little blue rock the majority of us like to call home."

Granted, Rodney wasn't being loud about his rants this time around, but they were just as cryptic to the Athosian.

And there was no Sheppard around to provide a translation. Teyla should have known better than to think this, but it came without warning, and pierced another hole in her heart.

" The Raalosians are known for their vast collection of Ancestor artifacts," she said by way of explanation, though Rodney had been subject to the same explanation twice already. " The fact that they have agreed to trade with us should not be taken lightly. There could be items of great use, including something that could help us track the hive ships."

McKay snorted. " Yeah, excuse me while I don't hold my breath. These Raalosians can call themselves explorers all they want, but they heard of us through the Genii who were slapping wanted posters with our faces on every conceivable world. And yes, they _claim_ to not be very friendly with the Genii, even chased them off when the Genii got slobbery over the devices, but that doesn't make them friends, just more people who don't like the Genii."

" And who have no use for many of the devices since they cannot activate them," Teyla argued.

McKay snorted again. " All the more reason to welcome us with open arms, and hug the nearest schmuck with an ATA gene and never let go. Probably a good thing Sheppard isn't here. We'd just lose him all over again."

The bitterness in Rodney's words actually made the air of the lab go stale. Another pin-prick hole was added to Teyla's heart. Any mention of Sheppard by McKay was so laced with venom that it was teetering on turning into hatred; hatred toward what happened, hatred toward the wraith, hatred toward himself, and to Teyla's growing concern, hatred toward John. Rodney was both taking blame, and laying blame, unable to decide which he wanted to sink into more. Teyla heard the talk. Rodney was proving that he could make himself even more of a nightmare to be around, and his assistants were scrounging for excuses to avoid the lab whenever Rodney was in it.

" Dr. McKay..." Teyla began. Rodney was adept at moving fast to cut people off.

" You know, they probably only want to trade with us because we're from Atlantis and therefore _must_ have better toys than them. They'll probably end up getting injected with the ATA gene, and all we'll get in return is some over sized reading lamp that sounded impressive at the time. This is stupid, and I'm sticking by that."

Teyla let loose another sigh. " That is fine. But Dr. Weir says that you have no choice but to go..."

" There's always a choice," Rodney muttered, and hunched his shoulders. End of discussion.

Teyla exhaled through her nose. The words were dancing on the tip of her tongue. _Maybe we might discover something about Colonel Sheppard._ To say them out loud would have been a death sentence, metaphorically speaking. Not on Rodney's part, no. Teyla could handle McKay's next onslaught of angered words. It was her own anger she would have to deal with. She was tired of the words, tired of the hope, and even more tired of the constant let down. The past searches for signs of Sheppard had not just been failures, but jokes. They'd tried to follow the path of the hive ships, landed on the worlds where Sheppard might have landed had he survived, gone to other worlds Sheppard might have fled to, and either got nothing for their efforts or tales so far fetched it took five men just to keep Ronon from breaking necks over the absurdity.

One world claimed Sheppard's spirit was now watching over them. Another said he was a wild man sneaking into their village at night and making off with their live stock. The worst by far was the suggestion that he had become a wraith. After that, the endeavor to find Sheppard had become a torturous routine that the team was forced to end, because their last search had Teyla arriving home in tears, Ronon furious enough to kill whoever got too close, and Rodney so quiet that Beckett thought he was sick, and wouldn't let him leave the infirmary for two days until he was sure.

With nothing else Teyla could think if to say, she turned and left the lab, only to come to an abrupt halt on finding Ronon leaning with his back against the wall and arms folded over his broad chest.

Ronon jerked his chin toward the now closed lab doors. " He's right you know."

Teyla tilted her head ever so slightly to one side. " You see this mission pointless as well?"

" Not so much pointless. Just... 'busy work.' We've got bigger problems."

" It is an opportunity we should not pass up. These people may provide us with something that could help us," Teyla said.

Ronon shrugged. " If you say so." He pushed off the wall and headed up the corridor. Teyla watched him go, surprised her heart still beat with all the holes in it. Teyla turned in the direction of the gym. Physical activity beat thinking any day, and she was tired of the directions her mind went, to probabilities, what-ifs, and pointless hope. She took two steps when she halted on seeing Carson standing with hands in his pockets and wearing a sympathetic expression.

" Give them time, lass," he sagely stated.

Teyla crossed her arms over her chest. " I am willing to give them all eternity. But..." she furrowed her brow. She couldn't quite explain what it was that was tearing her down so - not in the way she wanted. " It is... not easy."

Beckett smiled sadly. " Aye. But I suspect that's an understatement. And I suspect it won't be easy for some time. Four weeks isn't time enough for change. Their escape from the wraith is still fresh in their minds. Physical wounds still healin', never good reminders there. They've been through a lot, and I don't think discoverin' that their friend vanished – possibly... died – in an attempt to save 'em isn't helpin' matters. And you know Rodney..."

Teyla nodded. " I do." Heightmeyer didn't need to point it out. When McKay had been well and coherent enough to receive the bad news concerning John, the look on his face had said it all. Ronon's just as bad. The despair had been like a knife plunging over and over again, ripping the heart to shredded meat. Both men had shut down and – in all truth – had yet to really start up again.

Teyla had her head turned, staring at the silver-blue metallic wall. She reached out tentatively, and began tracing incoherent patterns with her fingertip. " I miss how it was."

Carson said nothing, only nodded.

" I miss John," she said.

SGA

Kace shoved the wire back beneath the mattress at the echo of tromping boots heading his way. He was back to his casual recline with his back to the wall and arm draped over one upturned knee. To his slight surprise, only two thugs appeared, lacking one bony individual being dragged between them. The blond, still bruised but no longer bloody, palmed the scanner. Baldy yanked the door open and waved for Kace to come out.

" Chief Judge will see you now," he grumbled in a baritone voice. Kace lifted his brow until his forehead creased.

" Really, now? And after only four days? Wow, I feel so special," he simpered, then hopped from the bed and emerged from the cell to stand between the two. He gave each a cheery smile. " You boys just made my day. Lead on."

Baldy rolled his eyes, but the blond scowled. They did indeed lead on between the rows of cells with their scattered occupants giving the evil eye to the thugs, or dropping to their knees begging for penance. They took Kace through a door, up a winding staircase, and into the opulence that was the Chief Judge's residence. The skills of a thief had Kace taking everything in without actually looking at anything. Brown, polished floors veined in crystal white, gold-framed pictures, antique artifacts sitting in glass cases or on polished tables, woven rugs of shiny thread that Kace knew could be traded for a couple of good weapons at a black market operation a few blocks from this place. Their footfalls resounded forever in the chamber sized corridor with its scattered collection of goodies. They headed up a short flight of pointlessly wide stairs, then to the right and a set of double doors through which was a real chamber where all the real goodies were kept.

Tall, arched windows on the other side of the room lit the place with white sunlight reflected off the crystal webbing through the cream-colored stone of the floor. There were more of those fine, glossy rugs scattered about beneath polished tables. But the real eye catchers were what overflowed the countless shelves and cases throughout the room. Devices, thousands of them, some familiar – like wraith stunners – others vaguely resembling items Kace had seen somewhere, and the rest too alien to even place a name of likeness to.

It was a painful act for Kace to pry his attention away from the treasure trove and focus it on the table he and the thugs were heading toward directly across from the door. His eminence, Chief Judge Harl, was standing before it looking nauseatingly rich in his shimmering robe of red, violet, and gold. Tall, thick about the middle, with contrasting spindly arms (and Kace was pretty sure legs too), and light flashing off a blading head – the man could have held himself with the posture of royalty all he wanted, what he hid beneath was pathetic. Unease surrounded him like a shield only Kace new existed. Harl was a man with so many agendas that it was no wonder he invested the majority of his time to maintaining his own security. The Chief Commander would have merrily removed his Chief Judge's head from his shoulders if he knew what Kace knew. Pity Kace couldn't use it, but a telepath had only two options in life – shut up and live, or be used, abused, and eventually killed. No one took kindly to mind readers on any world – Kace's own world especially.

Gorek was present standing on the other side of the table, and – low and behold, looking positively white-faced, confused, nervous, and breakable – was Sheppard trying not to cringe into the high backed chair where he was seated. The chair was turned to face Harl, with a thug standing behind it, brain scrambler in hand at the ready. Sheppard was staring at the floor, body trembling almost imperceptibly – not out of fear as Harl and the rest thought. Well, a little out of fear, confused fear, but mostly out of hunger, fatigue and, of course, pain. Can't forget the pain; it's presence was practically a shriek that could shatter glass, beating the edges of Kace's empathic awareness with a ridiculously over sized hammer.

Harl was leaning in a little toward Sheppard, holding some round object in the man's face.

" Sheppard, listen to me. We will return your meals if you activate two items, just two, and show us how they work..."

John's eye twitched, his fingers twitched, then his head twitched. Not a reaction, just involuntary muscle spasms that were the normal side effects to having one's brain twisted and fried. Harl's own fingers thrummed the device impatiently, and Kace could feel that impatience escalating toward anger in levels. Level two, his own hand shot out to grab Sheppard's slender wrist and pull his arm straight with palm up. He slapped the device into his hand. It lit up, and that was it.

Everyone watched Sheppard, Kace especially, and he had to force a frown to hide the smile. Sheppard's defiance was like static electricity popping the air around them. He barely held onto the device, and right then Kace would have given his right eye to be able to get a clear picture of what thrummed through that addled brain. The confusion was still palpable but underlying it was a an iron string of resolve that Sheppard seemed to be clinging to as though his life depended on it.

Nicely ironic. Sheppard let the device roll from his hand, and drop to the floor with a hollow clang. Harl bristled, and had he more hair it would have been standing straight up. Fingers curled into a fist which he raised and aimed at Sheppard's head.

Gorek chose that precise moment to look up, and sighed wearily. " Chief Judge Harl."

Harl didn't lower his fist even when he turned his head to see Kace. It remained poised for the strike despite the fact that Sheppard didn't seem aware of it. After several breaths, he finally relented and lowered it with a sharp sigh of his own.

" Oh, yes, right." He looked back to the table and picked up another device. " I suggest you reconsider, Sheppard. This would really go much smoother for you if it did." He placed the device in Sheppard's hand. It glowed prettily, and nothing more.

" Aver Kace," Harl said, keeping one hand gripping Sheppard's wrist, using the other to keep the device in the skinny man's grip, and moving both to look the glittering device over. " You have been charged with the crime of thievery. How do you plead?"

Kace shrugged. " I don't know. Guilty I guess. Really the fruit didn't look worth paying for anyways. Didn't think it would be much of a crime to take one. Oh well, my wrong."

" Five days confinement and two years community service."

Kace grinned. People had not been exaggerating when talking about Chief Judge Harl's 'swift hand of judgment'. Of course Kace had assumed them to be talking about the man's secondary reputation concerning his enjoyment of blood-letting and eliciting tortured screams from the accused.

" Sheppard," Harl said. " You are only hurting yourself acting this way. A simple demonstration and I promise you will receive a meal for it. If not then you will have to be punished. I am sorry."

Kace's hand shot up to his face in the act of wiping his nose to cover the snort of laughter that he couldn't hold back. To his eternal luck, no one noticed the noise. Most were too preoccupied with the increase of red to Harl's face. His fingers tightened on Sheppard's wrist hard until Harl's own wrist shook.

" Sheppard... Please. I do not wish to hurt you..."

Kace wiped his nose again.

Sheppard's fingers twitched a few times, then opened, letting the device drop with another hollow clang that resonated like a shot. Harl's mouth worked as though he were chewing something. He released Sheppard's wrist to let the limb drop lifelessly into Sheppard's lap. Harl straightened, clasped his hands behind his back, and nodded once. The man behind the chair brought the scrambler around and pressed it to Sheppard's temple.

He switched it on. Sheppard gripped the arms of the chair, arched his back, and screamed until his lungs depleted. The noise, and the aura of ripping agony, made Kace grimace and turn away in disgust. After two minutes, Harl called a stop to it.

" That is enough. Take him back to his cell. Let him ponder his actions."

Kace returned his gaze to the limp form being hauled from the seat, lifted, and half dragged over the floor and out the chamber.

Harl turned back to the table. " Oh, Kace as well."

" Thanks, boss," Kace said, turning in time with his escort. Harl didn't hear, and Kace doubted Harl even realized Kace had been there.

Back through the immaculate hall, down the winding stairs, and into the moist prison smelling of unwashed bodies and urine. Kace was shoved into his cell to see Sheppard already arrived, huddled with his back against the far wall, knees up, and head cradled in his hands as he rocked back and forth. Kace went over to his bed and plopped down onto it, emitting a squeak from the old metal. He dropped his own back against the wall and sighed, listening until the tromp of booted feet faded away to end at the thud and clank of the door. The moans and shouts of the prison kept the place from ever knowing silence.

Kace let his head roll to the side for his eyes to land on Sheppard. Sheppard had slid his hands from holding his forehead to resting on the back of his skull, forehead now on his knees, and back so tightly curved Kace could see the man's spine through the shirt. Pain kept pulsing from Sheppard in slower waves.

Kace shook his head. " You're a tough one to read, Shep..." Kace snorted out a laugh. " Literally. I don't know what's going through that twisted head of yours, but I'd love to." Kace leaned forward. " I mean all you've got to do is make those little gadgets dance for our pal judge up there and they'd leave you alone, but you don't. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're enjoying making our mutual enemy mad. And though I must admit I get a kick out of it myself, that doesn't seem like the bright thing to do. And I'd like to know why it is you choose pain over the easy way out. Like making life hard for everyone? Or is something at stake?"

No answer. Not like Kace expected it. Sheppard kept rocking back and forth with fingers entwined in a rigid weave across his head.

Kace sucked his teeth. " Well, I guess it's your business, whatever the reason." He stood, causing another squeak, and went over to the corner and the small grate there to relieve himself. When finished, he wiped his hands on his frayed trousers and moved to crouch in front of the huddled form. He studied Sheppard's head, the twitching fingers, the bruises and cuts marking up the thin flesh through the holes in the shirt, but didn't dare make another attempt at a more thorough scan, not so soon after another brain jolt. Thoughts were like deafening screams after the scramble. He did try to reach out and place his hand on the shuddering shoulder, just to see if he could, but pulled back fast when Sheppard twitched.

Kace pursed his lips. " Friend Shep," he said. " I'm normally not a negative fellow, but I don't hold out much hope for you here. Don't take it personally."

A clank, thud, and tromping footfalls coupled with an obnoxious, rhythmic squeak. Kace turned and watched as the prison keeper – a pudgey man with long, greasy brown hair – came waddling down the corridor pushing a wheeled tray with four levels of shelves holding plates with a bowl and crust of bread. The man ladled stew from a bucket into a bowl, and set the whole thing on the floor to slide it and two metal cups of water beneath the slot of the barred cell.

Kace crawled to it, then crawled back dragging it with him and letting stew slosh onto the plate. His initial plan was to eat with his back turned to Sheppard so he couldn't watch, but Kace doubted the man even recalled a time of day known as suppertime. Still, he couldn't do that to the guy. Hell, he couldn't even eat knowing the man behind him was gradually succumbing to starvation. Not that man. Maybe the murderer in the cell next door or the groveling excuse for a thief in the cell across the way, but not the only soul in the entire place with more backbone than Kace thought possible for such a wasted body and cracked mind.

Kace turned on his rear, bringing the food with him, to face Sheppard. Kace broke off a chunk of the bread and held it out for Sheppard, no worry about being reprimanded for it, because the warden had yet to ever consider that any of his prisoners might have heart enough to share. He was more interested in the ensuing fights to break out over the single bowl and single crust, and setting up the wagers over who would come out with the fewest bruises and most of the food. .

Kace continued to hold the bread out as he lifted the bowl to slurp some of the bitter stew with meat, vegetables, and lumps of stuff he had no desire to know what it was. He flicked his tongue over his lips and wagged the bread in front of Sheppard.

" Come on, friend. I know you're hungry. Just take it, I don't bite, I swear."

Sheppard kept rocking, twitching, and shivering, but didn't move in any other way. Kace dipped his head in an attempt at peering into Sheppard's face.

" Come on, I know you want it. No one's gonna know. It'll be our secret."

Kace heard a small gasp. Was Sheppard sobbing? He could feel the sorrow. The man was drowning in it, in his confusion and the fear it produced, trying to grasp things that were supposed to be there, but slipping from him like water through his fingers. And the more he tried, the more he drowned.

Kace didn't hold the man's sobbing against him. He wasn't cruel like that. He drank more stew and kept the bread where Sheppard could take it. Time didn't exist in a place like this, so Kace couldn't say how long it was before Sheppard finally moved, except that the bowl was almost empty. Sheppard's hands slid to his neck, allowing him to lift his head. The sunken, shadowed eyes were red, the wan face wet – definitely been crying. Sheppard looked at the bread, then at Kace. Not the first time they'd made eye contact, and not the first time that the uncertainty was so strong that it gave Kace the impression of a child confronting a complete stranger without mommy or daddy to keep him safe. Sheppard was still trying to grasp... something. Kace could see it in the way the man's forehead creased and smoothed. He could also feel it, like a physical struggle that he kept losing, but kept going at.

And he was always scared, just like he was always in pain.

Kace pursed his lips thoughtfully. " I won't hurt you," he said calmly, kindly, in the tone of one adult to another, not a child. " Come on. You want it, don't fight it. Eat, get strong, then you can piss our mutual enemy off for a little longer."

Sheppard kept looking from one to the other, back and forth, eye twitching, head twitching, a muscle in his back shuddering. Finally, he pulled one hand from off his neck, and reached it out shakily toward the bread, inching with caution. When the tips of his fingers touched the bread, his hand flinched back, but continued on when nothing happened. Finally, he snatched the bread from Kace and pulled it to him, enclosing himself around it to tear into it and stuff it in his face.

Grinning, Kace leaned back until he was almost lying down, and grabbed the water, dragging the first to set before Sheppard, and the second before himself. Sheppard finished the bread by the time Kace had his own water, and drank the cup empty with a look of rapture on his tired face. Finished, he sagged, panting, and wiped his mouth with the grimy sleeve of his shirt.

Kace lifted his own cup to his mouth and chuckled before taking a sip. " You're an odd one, Shep my friend, no question there. Maybe there's hope for you yet."

TBC...

SGA

A/N: John needs hugs. Lots and lots of hugs.


	3. Reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sheppard thanks you for the hugs. And I thank you for all the awesome the reviews. I'm so happy you're loving this, even if it seems sadistic. Though this may sound wrong, I'm glad to see this story having a heart wrenching affect. It's what I was going for. It's kind of depressing me just writing it.

A/N: Sheppard thanks you for the hugs. And I thank you for all the awesome the reviews. I'm so happy you're loving this, even if it seems sadistic. Though this may sound wrong, I'm glad to see this story having a heart wrenching affect. It's what I was going for. It's kind of depressing me just writing it.

More disturbing whump ahead.

  
**3**   


John drummed his fingers on the metallic arm of the Ancient chair to the tune of _Free as a Bird_. Of course, only he heard the music within the hard to hear taps of his fingers that barely registered over the spastic clacking of a lap-top keyboard. John's fingers had rhythm, but Rodney's fingers were the ones dancing. John didn't recall when they had brought a table into the chair room – tables, actually, half buried in mechanical clutter both Ancient and human, reminiscent of the garage of John's grandfather, the king of tinkering. John's first car had been a junk-yard jalopy he and gramps had played Frankenstein on and brought to life. Metal heap became Mustang, a beautiful Mustang ruined when John was eighteen thanks to a drunk-driver in denial. The creep would have gotten away with blaming John for the mess if the cop hadn't insisted on both getting a breathalyser.

It really did pay to wait until age twenty-one to start drinking.

" You're thinking too loud," Rodney said. " Stop it."

John glanced around. " Sorry." The chair room lighting was a little dim, but no amount of mental shouting could bring the lights up. Thus far, it was only him, Rodney, and the space junk being illuminated. He tapped the little bowl of goo in the arm of the chair, then pressed his fingers into it. The chair vibrated beneath him.

" Don't do that," Rodney flatly admonished. John snatched his fingers from the goo and eyed Rodney oddly.

" Buuuut... I thought that's what you wanted me to do?"

Rodney stopped clacking to slide around on his stool and face Sheppard. " Yes. But not here, and not now. Too dangerous. You have to wait." Rodney's patience was controlled, forced, playing nice with Sheppard to get what he wanted though Sheppard couldn't figure out why. Sheppard was the guinea pig, he was supposed to cooperate with the brainiacs.

Rodney should have been snapping at him by now. John was being purposefully annoying, because he was annoyed himself, and didn't want to suffer through it alone. He couldn't recall why he was here, and it was making him nervous. All he wanted to do was leave.

John huffed a breath. " Wait for what? Rodney, I want to get out of here. I don't feel good." He didn't. He ached, and there was an empty feeling in his stomach as though someone had dug a bottomless pit into it.

Rodney's face seemed to shift, gradually, imperceptibly, morphing into something John rarely ever saw – sadness.

" Sorry Colonel, not yet. I'm not calling the shots this time, so I don't know how long it'll be. Just... try not to touch anything, or activate anything, it's really important that you don't."

John tapped the tips of his fingers on the surface of the goo. " Why?"

Rodney rolled his eyes in irritation, and John felt a slight twinge of tension ease from his body at the normalcy.

" Because," Rodney snapped, " it's important. You don't want the wrong people seeing what these babies can do. What if they decided to use them against us? Or give them to our enemies? You can't trust anyone, Colonel. You of all people should know that."

John swallowed nervously, fingers tracing small lines back and forth over the malleable surface of the white gel. " Um... yeah, I do. It's just... It's just that it – you know," he looked at Rodney pleadingly, and didn't care that the physicist saw it. John swallowed again. " It hurts, Rodney. It hurts to wait."

Rodney was sad again, and it frightened John. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Where was the frustration, the petulance, the sarcasm...?

" I know, Colonel. You just have to hang on, for however long you can. Don't let them win."

John could have sworn the lights were fading out. John's heart made a mad scramble for his throat. " You, uh... You don't have to go, right? You're going to stay... right? I, um..." John coughed out a pathetic laugh at his own weakness. It died in his throat, which tightened to the point that he could barely breathe, and heated tears stung his eyes. " I don't want to be alone."

McKay pursed his lips. " You're not."

John smiled bitterly when two tears raced each other down his face. " I am when I wake up."

Then the world went black, because he woke up, but couldn't scream the name fading away into oblivion. A thick hand was covering his mouth.

SGA

Kace awoke to the clank and thunk of the prison door. Breakfast time, and if he didn't pounce on it soon, the stew would taste worse than it already was. He blinked filmed eyes, then rubbed the sleep gunk from them with both hands. When the fuzz that was the world congealed to a solitary sight, he rolled onto his side and gently eased himself - grunting and moaning against sore bones – into a sitting position.

His eyes went straight to the bed across from him, unoccupied. Glancing around he saw no huddled, shivering body anywhere. _When had that happened?_ There were times, rare times, when Kace slept deep enough never to wake even if it was the end of the world. Days of self-induced sleep deprivation catching up to him, because sleeping tended to be a waste of time. Thanks to that attitude, he had missed the show. Kace grimaced in sympathy for his sort-of friend.

" And we were making such headway," he mumbled, then stood to retrieve the singular plate of sludge they called food.

SGA

John watched the balding man in the shimmering maroon robe eating from a heaping plate across the mirror-polished table. The food was meat and fruit, with a blue liquid in a crystal goblet beside the silver plate. John's eyes went from the man to the food, back to the man. Why was he here? John recalled something... he was supposed to be holding things, devices. Normally he would be, that much he recalled. Holding, then being hurt, then holding... holding, hurting, holding, hurting, la dee da and a screaming we will go. Mustang? Horse? Car. Pretty car. Pretty dead car. What's a car? John felt his eye twitch, and it hurt, but he wasn't holding anything. Okay, goody, hurting for no reason, _why!_ He gasped at a brush of cold air at his back. Too cold, like ice, icicle breath. Who was breathing on him? No, breath was supposed to be warm...

" Sheppard," the man said before taking a bite, and John jumped in alarm. The man chewed, swallowed, sipped from the goblet. The scent of the food wormed its way into John's nose, and he shuddered with a painful longing to taste it.

The man dabbed his mouth with a ruby cloth. " There is really no point to this stubborn behavior. Your life can be a pleasant one here if you would just submit..."

Muscle in the shoulder twitching, then his hand, as though flicking something away. He couldn't control... _why!_ He swallowed when his chest went tight. He wanted food so much. Just a little... _No_! No, it was giving into... into... into... _what! What!_ WHAT!

The man took another sip. John knew this man. Did know. Was supposed to know. The name was eluding him. Add it to the collection, the list, of names that were supposed to exist but didn't. Okay, list of faces then, that was more like it, yeah. Faces he had, just not names to go with them...

" When you came to us, begging for help," the man was saying, " we offered you that help in exchange for one favor. You did not live up to that favor, so it is your own fault you are in your present position. You can easily free yourself from it, ease your agony, your hunger. Even earn your freedom home."

John's breath caught in his throat. Home? Home. What was home? Faces without names, names flitting on the edge of thought, answers, lack of pain, lack of hunger, man with the funny voice making the pain go away. Petulant voice, not funny voice, clackity-clack let's hope he comes back... what was that noise? A clacking, constant, the petulant voice, snorting derision. Yes, two separate people, funny voice and angry voice. Not angry; annoyed, snide, snappy, but nothing to be afraid of, just a friend. Friend, _friend, what friend!_ WHAT FRIEND!

John's head throbbed, pulsed, pounded until he wanted to cry.

" F-friend?" John asked. He had a friend, friends, faces without names.

The bald man smiled kindly. " Yes, Sheppard, friend. I am your friend."

 _WRONG!_ Wrong, wrong, wrong! John's heart pounded in fury and terror, slapping his ribs, trying to beat itself to death rather than endure the bald man's stupidity.

" I can be your friend, your savior, if you would just do this one thing I ask. Then you can be free."

A pressure increased around John's wrist, and he looked at it, at the thick fingers wrapped around the frail looking limb. When had he gotten so decrepitly pathetic? Something was slapped into his palm, that round thing again. He liked the smooth texture of the metal skin, but not the vibration when the little lights blinked on.

" Activate it," said the bald man. " Show us what it can do. Then you may eat."

John's thin fingers tightened around the ball. Ball, like a baseball. Baseball? Yeah, sport, baseball. Throw it, throw the little sucker, smash it. Why? Because... Because... a reason, an important reason, John recalled that much. Very important, super important, so important, his life didn't matter, only the reason without a name, like the faces without a name. They were important, holding back was important. Why wasn't, just the nameless reason.

Enemy, mutual enemy. The _really_ bald guy said that. He liked him. He didn't push, didn't lie. He had food. No pain from him.

" Sheppard?" the man wheedled. John gulped, and a hot tear slid down his face. This was going to hurt.

Oh well. Screw it all.

John lifted his arm over the arm of the chair, turned his wrist, and literally dropped the ball. It clanged, silence fell, John didn't even look at the balding man. Suddenly, he was yanked from the chair to be thrown to the floor. He fell sprawled, wincing at every bone's revenge toward rough treatment. He struggled to rise, only to have himself yanked upright onto his knees by the hood of the shirt. The hood was pulled up, and the collar tightened around his throat. He gagged, only to become distracted from choking by the red-hot sting of pain across his back. He screamed, arching his spine.

The balding man came around to John's front, wiping clean a thin, metal switch. He poked John in the chest with the sharp tip of that switch, drawing blood that spread a tiny dot amidst hundreds of other red dots.

" Let this be a lesson to you, Sheppard. Your refusal will only prolong this madness. You will activate this item, or you will suffer until the end of your days, however long that might be."

The balding man raised the switch and struck in across John's jaw, snapping his head to the side. Warm blood traced heated rivulets down his jaw, his neck, all the way to pool in the hollow of his collar bone. The man went back behind Sheppard. John tensed, cringed, hunching his shoulders, trying to pull away, breath coming fast, bringing with it a sound like a whimper. Mistake, big mistake, probably, he wasn't sure. The reason, only the reason mattered, the nameless reason, behind which were the nameless faces. That's all that mattered.

This was going to suck. It always did. He clenched his jaw, sealed his lips, doing what he could not to give the balding man the satisfaction of another scream.

He heard the whining rush of air as the switch was lifted. Time halted. Then, the door boomed open.

" Your judgeship! Your guests have arrived."

" Oh, blast it all!" The switch whined, but no pain followed. Every molecule of tension siphoned from John's body, and he would have fallen bonelessly to the floor if he hadn't been held up by the hood.

" Get him out of here before they see him. Now!"

John wanted to laugh, but it became caught in his throat when he was yanked to his feet by the hood, and dragged from the room by both arms.

SGA

A clang, and thunk. Kace bolted upright and watched the corridor beyond the cell. Gorek arrived, trailed by two thugs dragging a limp, lifeless Sheppard. Gorek palmed the lock and actually kicked the cell door open. Sheppard was dragged in and dumped like a discarded sack onto the floor. Gorek departed with a final vicious boot to Sheppard's ribs. " Grow some brains, you worthless piece of filth," he snarled, and strode furiously out the cell. Once out of sight, Kace rolled from the bed and onto his knees by the motionless form. The back of the shirt was soaked with fresh blood, darkest at the newly formed rip that went from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. Kace parted the tear, and sucked a breath through his teeth at the deep, oozing gash. A metal switch was the culprit. They cut cleaner.

Kace attempted to put a hand on Sheppard's shoulder to shake him. He barely brushed the area when Sheppard scrambled up, then scrambled backward until he ran into his own bed, huddling, hugging his knees to him, staring out the bars with a feral look. Lines of blood were painted down his jaw and neck, ending at where it soaked into the collar.

Kace clasped his hands to his own knees and sat back on his haunches. " You okay there, friend?"

Sheppard pulled his animal gaze from the corridor to place it on Kace. Kace gestured at him.

" You should really do something about those cuts. They'll get infected." Considering if he wasn't already infected. He had plenty of cuts that should have made him sick by now. Kace suspected Harl didn't let it go that far. Or maybe he did, but didn't let it go as far as Sheppard dying. He'd caught a few gashes that appeared to be stitched.

Sheppard blinked, twitched, and looked away again back out into the corridor. Kace sensed fear, more pain (surprise, surprise), and anger, boulder-loads of anger. Kace smirked at that.

" That's it, friend Shep. You fight anyway you can."

Sheppard's reply was a small cough.

TBC...

SGA

A/N: Okay, here's kind of the deal with this story. I've got about eleven chapters written thus far, so you will be knowing Sheppard's fate. It's the rest I'm having trouble with – the after math. I mean, I have a basic idea of what I want, of where it's going, I just don't like what I have in mind for the ending. It's an okay ending, I suppose, but I know I could do better is all. I kind of left things open for anything to happen. So updates will continue to be slow in coming, and I apologize.

There's a chance I may offer a kind of co-authorship on this story, though I'm not decided as of yet. I just have a major problem with the ending because it just isn't enough to me – too simple I think. If I do decide to take up help figuring an ending, I'll give more details into my dilemma, and whoever helps will get credit for the ending. Heck, I'm willing to let more than one person help. Maybe make it like a contest to see which works best or something. I don't know. Like I said, not finalized. But if you'd like to get in on this, just let me know, and if I do decide to take up help, I'll reply with the details. I like this story, and don't want to skimp on it.


	4. Rage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As I prepared this chapter, a kitten slept on my shoulder. It's so precious! What's even more precious is when her fur gets all prickly and she starts making this quiet hissing sound, which scares the crap out of our huge dog. You go girl! (She's like the size of the dog's paw. Too funny.)

A/N: As I prepared this chapter, a kitten slept on my shoulder. It's so precious! What's even more precious is when her fur gets all prickly and she starts making this quiet hissing sound, which scares the crap out of our huge dog. You go girl! (She's like the size of the dog's paw. Too funny.)

  
**4**   


_This – is - Stupid!_ And Rodney was going to make sure, when he got back to Atlantis, that Elizabeth got it through her head the futility of these trading missions, because if you didn't make enemies, then you made crap deals and iffy allies. Then there was the whole potential wraith skipping off to the buffet that was earth and eating their fill that needed dealing with. _Yes, a trifle compared to our real need to shop at the Ancient's version of a dollar store._ Rodney couldn't wrap his brain around the possible potential this trade mission held. Okay, so this guy with his fancy collection of Ancient devices had created quite a name for himself for the same reason. It was just more piddly pieces of techno that was more beneficial to the singular person than an entire city, or good for nothing more than blowing everyone to pieces.

Sheppard could have attested to that, but he wasn't around to give his insight into the havoc some devices were good at wreaking. Sheppard's own fault, really, for going Buck Rogers on them and flying off face-first into the mouth of hell. It proved, once and for all, that for being MENSA potential, Sheppard was an idiot. Had – had been an idiot. Had...

Rodney trailed behind the line of Lanteans heading up the dusty road leading away from the town and to the palace the towns folk kept insisting was only a mansion, rising up out of the tree line like the beginnings of a mountain. In front of him was Ronon, then Lorne, and finally their fearless leader of the day, Teyla. It wasn't that long of a trek, about a quarter of a mile, but Rodney's frustration was turning it into one of those bad dreams where one keeps running and running without ever moving. By the time they reached the excessively wide stairs and massive double doors, he was panting and griping under his breath, slapping dust off his pants.

" They couldn't have provided us with transportation?" Rodney growled. " They have vehicles. What the hell is wrong with people? Always refusing transportation for the strangers, making them walk just because they're afraid we might make off with their little horse-thing and buggy. I mean do they really think we care..."

" McKay," Ronon rumbled. " I suggest you stop."

McKay glared at Ronon with everything he had and didn't even know he had. " No! I will not stop. I'm sick of this crap! Yeah, it may be their world and they're the ones calling all the shots, but they could be a little more decent about it rather than trying to shove superiority that isn't even there to begin with into our faces..."

" McKay," Ronon snarled between clenched teeth. The runner was getting mad, and McKay was feeling sadistically vindictive about it. On top of everything else he was sick of in the universe, he was also getting sick of being told what to do, and being bullied, and being told to shut up. Since he was being forced on this mission against his will, he would tear into it and every other frustration until the cows came home and Rodney turned blue in the face.

Ronon advanced toward Rodney, towering, but Rodney held his ground. Teyla stepped in between to intercede, mouth open at the ready with a reply, when the doors thundered open and a man in a black uniform and with a thick-muscled body that rivaled Ronon's stepped out. He eyed the group with a mixture of suspicion and distaste.

" The people from the Ancestral home?" He asked. Teyla stepped forward, smiling warmly.

" Yes, I am Teyla Emmigan..."

" This way please," the man cut in, and turned to lead the way with or without the newly arrived guests. The team entered, and Rodney frowned at all the wealth being shoved down their throats. Marble floors, silken carpets, gold frames, and antiques both primitive and advanced. They were taken down a corridor the size of two of Atlantis' corridors, foot-falls echoing, and their breath amplified. They turned a corner into yet another cavern of a hall decked out in what only the filthy rich could afford, went up a short flight of overly wide steps, and another turn to more double doors that the big man opened to reveal an actual chamber.

Devices cluttered the shelves and cabinets. Rodney felt torn. One part, the old rational part, wished him to start salivating, and his hands itched to touch a few things and give his own ATA gene a go. Granted, it would take a crap load of effort, but the results were always worth it as long as they didn't involve explosions, electrocutions, or out of body experiences. Another part of him, a part getting a lot more headway in his conscious than it should have, prickled with irritation at the devices. Ancient devices were Ancient devices, and half the time didn't do squat except blink and make funny noises.

It was getting to be official for Rodney. One more thing he was growing sick of – Ancient device activation. Ancient devices period.

A tall, paunch-bellied man was standing behind the table across from the door with devices set out before him. He had his hands clasped over his stomach, and a bright smile on his face. When the Atlanteans approached, the man spread his arms wide as though to encompass all the little Ancient gizmos.

" Welcome, my friends, to my home. I am Chief Judge Harl at your service, and have been looking forward to your arrival. I am pleased that you accepted my request for trade. We have not bartered with a people as advanced as we are."

Rodney almost let rip a good snort at that. Advanced usually entailed _not_ using buggies drawn by weird horse wanna-be creatures.

Teyla stepped forward. " Chief Judge Harl. I am Teyla Emmigan. Behind me are Ronon Dex, Major Lorne, and Dr. McKay. Dr. McKay has vast knowledge concerning the tools of the Ancestors. May he look at them as we discuss trade agreements?"

Still beaming as though everything were bright and sunny everyday, Harl nodded. " Of course. Please come forward. Study at your leisure."

Rodney didn't try to hide his annoyance. Too much work. He came forward and eyed each item down the line. There was some kind of a ball, something shaped like a gun, a piece resembling a personal shield but blue rather than green, and items Rodney was already reluctant to touch because he couldn't even compare them to anything. Beside him, Teyla and Harl's conversation was a low, obnoxious hum in Rodney's ear. He heard medicine mentioned, weapons, wraith stunners, the usual currency. Rodney puffed out a breath and picked up the little metal ball. It took concentration that produced a slight throbbing at his temples, but Rodney was able to get the dented contraption to light up around the middle.

He held it up toward Harl. " Hey, what's this one do? Do you know?"

Harl, still in the middle of talking, turned his eyes to Rodney and gaped.

" Ah... um... I am not sure. A-as you know, we are unable to work these devices. It is why we have little use for them."

Rodney looked from Harl, to the ball, then to Harl, irritation flaring like a fire stoked with kerosene. " Soooo... for all we know, I could be holding a bomb."

Harl's jaw worked up and down. " I-I-I suppose..."

Rodney mentally shut the thing off, and couldn't set it down fast enough. " Great, just great. We're playing with toys that could turn out to be grenades. We don't even know what the hell we're getting into!"

Teyla's eyes widened. " Dr. McKay..." she hissed. Ronon glowered at the little scientist.

Rodney couldn't have cared less if Ronon could shoot laser beams out of his eyes. He wasn't putting up with this bull.

" Oh don't give me that. No way in hell are we going to make a blind purchase based on how pretty and shiny these things are. I want to know what they do. In other words, study them." He looked at Harl, knowing he was going to regret this. " If you'll let me, I'd like to study them here, see how much I can find out, maybe do a few test runs. Shouldn't take long since I can tell by looking at a few what they might be capable of." Rodney was really starting to hate himself. He had hoped – prayed – for an in and out mission, not an over night stay. He tried to turn that anger onto Harl, but he couldn't fault the man for not having the Ancient gene.

Harl seemed to relax, though Rodney had not realized he'd gone tense. The older man twitched a smile three times, then nodded ascent. " Of – of course Dr. McKay. It is no trouble. B-But I'm afraid I am unable to entertain you. As the chief Judge, my home doubles as a prison, so you may not feel comfortable staying here. Although there is a nice inn just at the edge of our town. I will even arrange transport to and from my residence."

Transport, now _that_ McKay could allow himself to lighten up a little about. Far be it from him to pass up the sunnier side of the street... Unless it was one of those cramped buggies being offered. Before McKay could reply, Teyla muscled in, probably thinking McKay had been about ready to say something snide. A little presumptuous this time around, but he didn't hold it against her. Rodney was very aware of his lack of self-control over his own tongue.

" Thank you, Chief Judge Harl. We most appreciate it, and we apologize for our suspicion. We have had regrettable encounters with Ancestor tools in the past, so must be cautious."

Harl was back to beaming, a little bigger this time around. " Of course, of course, think nothing of it. I shall leave you now for your studies, although for your own protection, guards must be present. Please do not take that as a sign of mistrust. Prison, remember, though we have yet to ever have a prisoner escape. Some must be brought to me for judgment to be passed, which is why I cannot stay, and I apologize."

With that said, Harl hurried out, and Rodney could have sworn the man was trying to walk fast without it turning into a run. He didn't like that, and apparently neither did Ronon or Lorne, both with furrows in their brows, and Ronon scowling deeper than ever. But no one said anything about it. Rodney turned back to the devices, and sighed wearily.

" Actually, we should have just grabbed one and gone. If Sheppard hadn't gone and blown himself up we'd be out of here..." the words died with a heavy exhale. He felt the stares burning into his back, but didn't give the team the benefit of turning around in all humility and apologizing. Maybe at another time, or in another life, he would have, but he was a little busy trying to get the muscles in his throat to unclench and blink back the burning in his eyes.

It was screwed up. He was pissed at Sheppard – supposed to be pissed – had every right to be pissed. Well, pissed in general, not necessarily at Sheppard only. But Sheppard was at the top of the list, and McKay let him stay there rather than fight it just so he could end up sobbing like a little girl, whining about never having any friends because they always get themselves blown up. Sheppard had gotten himself killed by his own choosing, therefore McKay wasn't going to waste energy pitying the man, or himself. No point. It had all been inevitable. Rodney had always believed Sheppard had harbored a secret death wish. Or was so dense couldn't get it through his head that he wasn't immortal.

Yet he couldn't deny his own words stung – no, stabbed - and right then he put himself up at the top of the list with Sheppard.

McKay grabbed the nearest device – that little ball, like a kids toy – and began looking it over without really seeing it. Feigning busy work, he turned his head just an inch to catch the looks of the rest of his team. Ronon and Lorne – alert and stoic, Ronon a little annoyed but then when wasn't he. Teyla – she wasn't hiding anything, and was looking to the floor in melancholy thought. McKay really wished he were more limber so he could kick himself.

SGA

Kace stayed crouched before Sheppard, and Sheppard remained huddled against the bed, rocking, shivering, twitching, ripping his own mind apart trying to piece it back together. One eye-lid fluttered, blinked, then righted itself.

" Come on, friend Shep," Kace cajoled. " Just a quick look see. That's a nasty gash you got and from the look of the blood creeping around your flanks, I think it's safe to say it hasn't stopped bleeding. Come on, little friend, it's me, Kace. You can trust me. I swore I wouldn't hurt you and when Kace swears, he swears on his own head. You can't beat that."

Sheppard looked up at him, tilting his head to one side, brow creasing, eyes narrowing, mind pushing through sludge and stone walls trying to fathom this man called Kace. The mind scrambler hadn't been applied, because the effort to recall wasn't acting like such an ordeal for the mind-cracked man. But sweat still beaded his forehead, and eventually the effort did increase, an indication that Sheppard's mind had wandered, one thought leading to another, moving too fast for Sheppard to grasp, or too fuzzy and refusing to clear. It wasn't so much memory loss that Sheppard suffered, but a complete inability to control the conscious parts of his own brain. The scrambler, from what Kace was able to glean from Gorek's mind, sent out pulses of energy – like electricity – through the brain, disrupting memory long term and short term, and coherent thought. It jumbled everything together, with even smaller pulses still flitting about Sheppard's skull, continuing the disruption. It wore off, eventually, a very long eventually, and caused less damage than electricity. Although Kace had caught the mental rumor that prolonged use eventually led to either permanent brain damage or suicide.

Sheppard probably wouldn't last much longer for either.

Another side effect was seizures, which Sheppard had suffered twice since Kace's arrival. But today would be Sheppard's lucky day since Gorek had forgone another pulse administration. The only worry was the constant bleeding from that gash.

" Shep, Shep!" Kace snapped his fingers before the man's face. Sheppard was drifting, his struggles turning to pain that twisted his face and had his hand shooting to his head to grab a fistful of spiky hair. The snapping made Sheppard flinch back to the here and now, and trying to push further back into the bed. Kace raised both hands in a placating manner, and inched back a little.

" Whoa, easy, little friend. No harm by me. Come on, Shep, you need to let me check that cut, see if I can't stop it from bleeding. You'll attract vermin. Get sick..."

A clank and a thud had both men snapping their heads to the corridor. Footfalls made Kace stiffen, and Sheppard cringe, unfolding into a crouch of his own with finger tips barely touching the floor and back curved in the posture of something preparing to pounce. Kace turned bodily himself, rising a little, reaching out one hand toward Sheppard. The skinny man was looking a little wild and hell-bent for blood.

" Easy, friend, easy."

Jeers, howls, and cat-calls had erupted, rising to a roar of noise, and when Kace saw the reason for it, he burst out laughing.

" Well looky here, looky here! How ya doin' boss?" Kace rose to his feet as Gorek unlocked the cell and stepped aside for Harl to enter. Sheppard froze, then snapped from his own terrified stupor to go scuttling backward until he hit the wall, where he shrank into a trembling mass of flesh, bone, and dirty clothes, breathing fast like a man who'd been tearing across country at a mad dash.

Kace was shoved aside by Gorek, and kept being shoved until his legs met the bed and he was forced to sit. Harl, wearing a look of mild disgust, lifted the hem of his robes from off the floor to approach Sheppard. Once towering over the terrified man, he snapped his fingers. One of the goons entered, handing Harl a device, which he promptly held out to Sheppard.

" You will activate this, or you will be punished. Do you understand? I will not be humiliated by the likes of you!"

Humiliated. Kace squinted as he bore his gaze into the man's head to take a little peek. Visitors, four, three men, one woman, looking for items, but that was all Kace got when Gorek shifted, blocking Kace's view of Harl. For in depth mind scans to work, a direct visual view of the one being scanned was required. Something about these four people was scaring the crap out of Harl.

Kace could still see Sheppard. The closer Harl brought the device, the further Sheppard shrank back.

" Take it! Take it!" Harl snapped. He reached out, grabbing Sheppard's arm, only to find Sheppard's long fingers curled in a tight fist. Harl tucked the device under one arm and attempted to uncurl the man's fingers. For a twig, the man still had a good amount of strength in him. Harl's attempt had him tearing the flesh of Sheppard's lower palm and upper wrist until blood was drawn. Snarling, conceding to a point, he threw Sheppard's arm down and snapped his fingers. The blond thug smirked, and stalked up to Sheppard. He grabbed the man's hood, hauled him to his knees, and thrust the scrambler to his temple. Sheppard screamed, and it quickly became the only sound in the prison.

The scrambler remained at Sheppard's head for an unhealthy amount of time. Sheppard's eye were wide enough to rip, his back arched until Kace thought it would snap, and his fingers spread stiff as wood. Harl watched the torment; impassive, but smug satisfaction pouring from him like mud. The agony wouldn't stop flowing, and it was making Kace nauseas. Sheppard wouldn't be holding out much longer.

" That is enough!" Harl called. The blond removed the device from Sheppard's head. Sheppard crumpled to the floor, panting, whimpering, and shuddering.

Harl sighed wearily and crouched beside his supposed prize. Kace was disgusted to see the man reach out and gently stroke Sheppard's bloody back. Sheppard flinched, but that movement alone wore him out. He couldn't pounce if he wanted to, and oh how he wanted to.

" Sheppard, Sheppard, Sheppard," Harl sweetly admonished. " You only have yourself to blame for this. I am offering you so much for one mere act. Why must you fight me? Do you think I enjoy hurting you? Do you think I am so cruel as to want this to happen? You are the one in control of fate, my friend. You have the power to end this. All I am asking is one demonstration of what these objects can do, then you can be free."

Kace, realizing his view was clear, dove back into Harl's mind, and gaped at what he saw.

Like hell Sheppard was going free, Kace had discovered that a long time ago. What was sick was that upstairs, right this minute, gathered in the very room Sheppard had been not that long ago, were people who knew Sheppard. It was why Harl was afraid. Sheppard's salvation was a few stair flights away, and he wanted them gone. But not at the expense of losing potential gain. These people were from the floating city, after all, home of the Ancestor's.

Kace looked back bemusedly at Sheppard. Now that explained a lot.

Still stroking Sheppard, Harl held the device out to him. " Please, Sheppard, this one act. It is all I ask. Then you will be free."

Sheppard raised his head on an unsteady neck. Desperation spilled from him like a flood, and his frightened eyes lingered on the device.

Maybe it was a small modicum of defiance Kace couldn't feel, or maybe it was just exhaustion, but Sheppard set his head back on the floor, closing his eyes with a shudder.

Harl's hand stopped on Sheppard's shoulder. The older man's fingers curled until they dug into the younger man's flesh. Sheppard's eyes snapped open, wild with pain, while Harl's face twisted with rage.

" You filthy Lantean!" He snarled in a rage that burst through the cell like an inferno. Harl shoved Sheppard onto his side, rose, and proceeded to kick the skinny man over and over, each kick more vicious than the last. Sheppard didn't have the breath to cry out as the air was continually driven from his lungs.

" You useless, scrawny, filthy Atlantean!" Harl stopped kicking, heaving angered breaths. " What use are you to me! What use are you to anyone!" He dropped back to a crouch, and leaned in toward Sheppard's ear. " Do you want to hear a little secret? Your friends are here. They have come for you, but you will never see them. _Ever_!" he shrieked, making Sheppard flinch. " They will leave this place, never knowing that you were here, and I will let you rot in this prison until there is nothing left of you but _bones!_ Do you want that? Do you want to never see your friends again? _Just activate it_! _Now!"_ Harl rose, and gave Sheppard one final kick. Something cracked, but Sheppard remained quiet.

Harl sucked in several breaths, leaned forward, and spat a wad of saliva onto Sheppard's body. " Rot then!" he screamed, turned, and strode furiously from the cell. The blond followed, then a smirking Gorek, who nudged Sheppard before leaving.

When the cell clanged shut, and the footsteps receded, Kace pushed himself from the bed, dropping to his knees beside the motionless form. Kace was pushing it, he knew, but he reached out and touched the man's shoulder.

Sheppard shuddered. He was still alive. Kace didn't ponder the man's fortune. He took advantage of the situation, and began checking him over. Pain in Sheppard's chest, so Kace rolled him enough to feel the area and along the flank, protruding bones making it all the more easier. Definitely cracked ribs, not really broken, but Kace was sure pretty close. He rolled Sheppard again, this time forward, and lifted the shirt to look at the gash. It wasn't bleeding anymore, but it was still moist. Not much to be done about it now. It would dry, scab over, and become another scar a part of the collection cross-hatching Sheppard's back.

Kace lowered the shirt back into place, and remained kneeling by the man who by all rights should have been dead by now – or at least subjected to Harl's every whim. The purpose of the brain scrambler was to subdue, bringing the one being scrambled to the level of a mindless drone to react on every minor command. However long Sheppard had been here – yet to be discovered in any mind Kace had time to scan – three days alone should have had the skinny man groveling and begging for release. A mind scan wasn't needed to tell Kace that Sheppard's brain was made of sterner stuff, and it made Kace shake his head in amused wonder. The longer he remained penned up with this man, the more he discovered, the more he wanted to know. Harl could waste Sheppard's body and his mind, it didn't take away who he was – whoever he was. Someone strong, no doubts there, even as he was now.

Kace had never been one to judge a man's fate, but what was happening to Sheppard wasn't right on more levels than simply cruelty. Kace was getting the strong impression that Sheppard was far from deserving this abuse. Kace liked the guy, he really did.

Since Kace was certain Sheppard had no power to stand even with Kace's help, he carefully gathered the broken man, lifted him, and carried him like a child to lay him on the bed. Kace found it disconcerting on the man's behalf that it didn't take much effort. Sheppard didn't react except to moan and suck in a hissing breath of pain. Kace made certain Sheppard rolled on his good side where he could curl into him self as his only defense against that pain. Once Sheppard was settled, Kace went to his own bed, and removed the straightened piece of wire. He went back to Sheppard, and placed the wire in Sheppard's limp hand, following up with a pat to the bony shoulder.

Kace was probably no better than Gorek and Harl, but he had one constant going for him. He knew they wouldn't kill Sheppard. They needed him, he wasn't expendable. Kace was. Besides, unlike the two mutual enemies, Kace planned to make it up to Sheppard – if it could be pulled off.

SGA

A/N: I will attempt to double the updates, but if I catch up with myself then it's back to once a week. I'm still trying to figure out a better ending, so if people want to suggest things, that's fine. You don't need to know the whole story to make suggestions, it's still all open for change.


	5. Shine On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **5**

  
**5**   


Metal hissed over rough obsidian stone, constant as a heartbeat, but methodical to draw out the sound until the hiss became a small ringing that was almost – though not quite yet – like music. Sheppard watched transfixed by the amber flash of firelight with each stroke of the knife over the whetstone. John shifted, rough stone at his back, neither cool or hot, wet or dry. He felt only its texture through his vest and jacket. There was no warm or cold, not from the fire, not in the water-scented air of the cave. Sensation was muted for him, and even the solid rock wall had a minor presence, like an object of dreams not worth giving full existence to.

The hand gripping the hilt looked older than the body it belonged to. The strokes of the knife over the stone held John's gaze, but it wasn't like he needed to see the face to know who the hands belonged to.

" Was there ever a time," John said, voice resounding hollow, " when you thought it would never end, and that it would be better just to end it yourself?"

The blade paused, then resumed it's motion. " You mean kill myself?" Ronon growled. It was an almost animal sound, emphasized by anger.

" No, not suicide. Just... giving in. Fight back until you die or... just give in."

The motion may have resumed, but John's attention was lost, allowing him to look up at the runner concentrating with an almost meditative quality on sharpening the knife.

" You want to quit Sheppard?"

John curled his fingers into his palms, and looked away. " I don't... I don't know... I don't know." He looked back at Ronon. " Why am I doing this again?"

Ronon shrugged. The runner outdid Sheppard in all aspects of nonchalance, as though the Satedan's skin was iron. " You tell me."

John squinted, thinking. It actually hurt, which he hoped had nothing to do with intelligence as Rodney sometimes claimed in hopes of getting John's hackles up. Where was Rodney? He would be able to answer John's question.

John recalled...

" Um... It's – it's important..."

The Satedan, never taking his eyes from the blade sliding over pitch-black stone, smiled. The runner always did have a creepy smile, like a wolf or lion after having taken down the prey. John shuddered and looked away at the fire. Flames writhed and licked the air with hisses and pops. It was a vicious element, fire. It ate everything. Forest fires, house fires, fires of rage.

" We all have a fire in us," Ronon said. John looked up. The smile was gone, as though the Satedan had become aware of the discomfort it caused. The blade hissed and rang, hissed and rang, over and over, repetitive as a heart beat. " It's what keeps us alive, keeps us going. It's different for each of us. For some, it's a spark, waiting to ignite. Others, a contained blaze, always stoked, always burning. A few, it's an inferno."

Ronon's eyes turned up to lock with John's gaze, but the knife never lost its rhythm. " Even fewer still, it's like a sun, always bright, always there, never to go out. You and me, Sheppard – we're suns. Stubborn, unrelenting suns."

John straightened in surprise. It sounded like a compliment – at least to Sheppard it did – and Ronon never gave compliments. " Because we can never go out?"

The blade hissed and rang. " Because we can't afford to. Not many of my people left – if any of my people are left at all. People rely on you. We can never stop burning."

John swallowed nervously. " But... All the time you were running... did you ever reach a point where you questioned the purpose of it? Of going on?"

Ronon shrugged again. " More than once."

" But you never listened..."

Reflected firelight danced in Ronon's eyes. " I listened, I just always came to the same answer."

" Which was?"

Hiss and ring. Ronon grinned. " The wraith took a lot from me. But they never took away who I am. Doesn't matter how much you lose, you'll always have that, and no one can ever take that away... Unless you let them. Maybe that's why it's important."

A smile tugged at John's mouth, but he couldn't quite reach that point yet. " But... it hurts. It hurts so much... Is it worth it?"

Hiss and ring. " The fight's always worth it. You know that."

Hiss and ring. Light flashed like lightening, bright as the sun.

" Shine on, Sheppard."

SGA

Vice on the arms, legs, body, pushing down, pulling up, ripping John from one world to the next. Images and names faded like smoke he tried to grasp. It blew away, and he didn't remember.

No, he recalled... One part... The fight. Fight. Fight! John struggled, writhed, bucked, and jerked. He would have screamed, but something warm and fleshy was clamped over his mouth. A hand. Bite it! Bite it! Fight! So he bit, and heard a grunt. The hand was removed, John reacted, striking out with his fist, recently becoming aware of something gripped in it, thin and easy to miss. A cry of rage, then a fist of iron striking John in the face with jack-hammer force, snapping his head around. His limp hand lost the thin object. Stars sparked and darkness circled his vision without ever quite closing in. Gravity toyed with him as he was hauled off the bed, hauled upright, then one final haul from the cell.

Stars. Sun. Sun? What about suns? Giant stars up close and personal, warm, friendly, and forever.

 _Shine on Sheppard._

Who had said that?

A clank, a thunk, and John was going up, up, up. Foul air became good, and he breathed in as he always did, only to stop short at the igniting pain in his chest, stabbing and burning.

Burning. Stars. Sun. Shine on.

The air was also warmer. Everything smelled so good. Food, there was food, growing stronger, closer. He was dragged for eternity until he was dropped onto unrelenting wood. A chair. John lifted his head on a wobbly neck, and started to tremble.

Baldy was back, turning a device over and over in his hands. Plate on the table, food, drink. _Oh my gosh, please! Please let it be mine!_ John was all eyes for the food, and only the food. Baldy, and device, be screwed.

Oh, wait, pain. John forgot about that. He looked back at the bald man, and the bald man approached with a sigh.

The man kept turning and turning the instigator of torment. But the food was more enticing to watch. John jerked when a hand touched his face, and another hand grabbed his jaw to still him as something cool and rather wet was applied. He was forced to pull his eyes from the food, and mustered enough resolve for a scowl at the small, mousy man with the wispy brown hair, clutching John's jaw as he finished smearing on the wet stuff. When he was done, mouse-man maintained his grip, wiping his hands on a cloth resting on the arm of the chair. Following that, he reached into a box, and pulled out an odd blade – kind of rectangle...

Razor. The word razor popped into John's head. The little man brought the blade close, John started back, the man held tight, and slowly ran the blade down John's cheek, the blade scraping and stubble more like a beard being sliced and diced.

A shave. They were shaving him. He couldn't decide if he should feel relieved or violated. At least they weren't bathing him. Small, pointless comfort in retrospect.

" You are quite the mess, Sheppard," the man said, turning the device, no longer looking at it. The little man was gentle in his ministrations, even skirting the gash on John's jaw.

" Does that not feel better?"

John really couldn't say. Any thoughts concerning facial hair had taken a back seat to the agonizing turmoil crashing around his skull.

" A step, really, Sheppard, to a better life. Access to creature comforts – cleanliness, a warm bed... food."

The black clad bruiser who was always present during the pain scooted the plate of food a little closer to John. The mousy man finished with John's face, and held a mirror up to him. John blinked without recognition. His face? That was his face? Pale to be almost white, sunken eyes surrounded by shadows, sunken cheeks. No, that couldn't be his. But he reached up all the same, and touched the drying flesh of his jaw. The man in the mirror mimicked him.

" Let's put away childish attitudes, shall we Sheppard? I had a special meal prepared for you. Activate, and you can eat. I'm tired of these games."

The mousy man put away the mirror and razor. With a snap of locks, he gathered the kit to him and hurried from the chamber. The moment the door thundered shut was the moment the balding man grabbed Sheppard's wrist, turning his hand palm up, and slapping the device into it. John looked at the thing.

Activate it. Easy as cake. What was cake? Turn it on, let it rip, eat, eat, eat.

Fight!

Sheppard flinched. Fighting, he was fighting for something, something important. What? Is it really worth it?

 _The fight's always worth it?_

What fight!

Does it matter? Probably not. The fight's important. Have to fight. Can't let them take away, take away...

 _Take away me? Hell no!_ Stubborn. No one told him what to do. He didn't even like this man.

 _Shine on Sheppard._

Shine, star, sun, sun inside the soul, burning bright as the day. Unrelenting, forever. Can't afford to go out. Shining on, like a little star. _Twinkle, twinkle little bat... Now where'd the hell had that come from? How I wonder what you're at. Up above the world so high, like a tea tway in the sky._ John wished he had wings. Flying away sounded good right now. Flying period, Free as a Bird now, Free falling, _Freeeeeee emooootion!_

John chuckled softly, but even then it still hurt, making his chest erupt, stabbing him with fragments of bone since no way could he have a knife in him and still be alive. He couldn't remember what he was fighting for, and suddenly he couldn't remember why he was laughing.

The man stood over him, waiting with a false patience even John could see through. John chuckled again. The man was an idiot. John wasn't stupid, he just couldn't get his brain to run a straight line.

 _Walk the line, yeehaw!_

The laughter died when another man stepped into view, pulling out the little box that always hurt. Fear strangled Sheppard, locked his brain, and he fumbled with the device, trying to urge it to work.

 _The fight's always worth it._

 _Why?_

There was a reason. Important. Survival. _My self_. _What about myself?_

 _They can never take that away... unless you let them._

How did not activating a device maintain the self? The answer never came. The device fell from John's hands, and he didn't recall if he had done it on purpose. Didn't matter. It was over. Tears burned his eyes and dripped fast down his face. He didn't remember, but that didn't make the fight any less important. If there _was_ a reason, then that's all that mattered. He let himself be ripped from the chair and thrown to the floor. He lay there as the man ranted, and between each rant struck John with the metal switch that split his flesh, probably to the bone, making John bite his own lip to keep from crying out. Then came the scrambler twisting his brain until he no longer recalled ever having been brought to this room. He recalled nothing...

Except something concerning... shiny?

SGA

Kace opened his eyes to a cry, and wave, of pain – for once – not emanating from John. Kace had already been awake, waiting for that very sound. He lifted his head to see Gorek stumbling back, clutching his hand. Kace didn't fight the smirk. _Perfect._ He leaped from the bed, pulling a piece of cloth from the pocket of his coat, torn from the end of his shirt.

" Let me help you out there, sir," he said, already taking Gorek's hand and wiping the blood away. Took a while for the chief guard's rather anger-hazed mind to register the one providing the first aid. With a sneer and a snarl, he yanked his hand away from Kace, then shoved the telepath away until he stumbled back and fell sitting on his bed.

Gorek whirled and slugged Sheppard hard across the face. The thin body went limp, and the guards dragged him away without anymore incident, Gorek kicking the cell door closed behind him.

Kace was all smiles, looking over his prize. He had a good amount of blood on the cloth that should do the trick. Just to play it safe, he stood and retrieved the piece of wire, wiping the remaining blood onto the cloth, then tossing the wire away out the cell as lack of evidence against Sheppard.

That's what Kace loved best about these guards. They acted, then thought, usually hours after the fact.

Kace folded the cloth and slipped it into his coat pocket. He went back to his bed and dropped down onto it, leaning his back against the wall and shifting until he finally got the itch plaguing his shoulder blade.

He waited, and waited, and waited. He was a little startled when the wait was cut shorter than normal (going by feel alone. He hadn't started whistling to keep the boredom from killing him yet) when the prison door thunked open and two guards came striding rigidly in carrying the thin, limp body between them. They opened the cell, dumped the body, and left, though not before one gave Sheppard a good kick to the already broken ribs. The moment they were gone, Kace was up and gently gathering Sheppard's body to move to the bed. He set Sheppard on his side, and still couldn't avoid causing the man to whimper. Harl had worked him over good. There wasn't a pain free spot left on Sheppard's busted frame.

Kace tore a bit of cloth from his own over sized shirt and carefully dabbed the gashes through the splits in Sheppard's shirt. Sheppard shuddered, moaned, tried to cringe away, but his reactions were like that of a sleeping infant.

Kace winced with each pitiful sound. " You just hang in there, little friend," he said in an undertone. " Just a little longer. Get your strength so we can get gone of this place. You and me..."

Kace owed it to the man.

SGA

" I have resigned myself to this hell," Rodney slurred. He lifted his mug, waving it around, sloshing foam. Ronon, leaning against the bar with one elbow resting on the wooden surface, rolled his eyes. He had his own drink he could have drowned in, but witnessing the gradual but still quick decline into inebriation by McKay had given him second thoughts toward it. The inn keeper had warned them (with an amused twinkle to his eye) of the potency of their local brew. McKay had turned a deaf ear, wanting a drink, and more than ready to take down anyone who got in the way of getting into a drunken stupor. Ronon had acquiesced to go with him since McKay was determined, and Ronon was still plagued by this persistent obligation to have Rodney's back after all the effort put into keeping him alive.

Ronon regretted his decision. Drunk McKay made him miss regular McKay, and that was just messed up.

" I have... bought myself a ticket to hell." McKay took a long pull from the ceramic mug, then slammed it down, sloshing more foam. He lifted a finger, and shook it limpidly at Ronon. " Weir knew I'd cave. She knew this would happen." Another pull. " She knew I wouldn't be able to withstand these people's incompetence."

Ronon flicked his eyes warily to the bartender and patrons near enough by to catch the meandering conversation. No one took notice of McKay's words. Then again - didn't matter the world - it was universal knowledge not to listen to anything a drunk had to say.

" This is so stupid," Rodney went on. " And do you know why this is stupid? Because it's _point-less_. Like rummaging through a garbage dump. Well, when we get back, the next time _Dr. Weir_ wants to send me grocery shopping, I'm going to tell her – outright – to just kiss my..." he interrupted himself by taking another drink, draining it to the last drop. He slammed the mug down again, and turned his attention to the full mug in Ronon's hand. " You gonna drink that?"

Ronon heaved out a rumbling sigh and relinquished his drink against his better judgement. Rodney grabbed it like it was food and that little eating problem he had that Ronon never understood was kicking in.

" I'd take it easy," Ronon admonished.

Rodney glowered, and swayed. " Screw you!" He lifted the mug and took a massive gulp, wiping foam from his lip after. " And who the hell are you to tell me what to do, huh? You're not the leader, Lorne is! Wait... no... Teyla is. One of 'em is. And they're not here. So just kiss off!"

Ronon cocked an eyebrow. He would have been offended if amusement hadn't taken over first. He had to hand it to the scientist – he was a mean little drunk.

The guy next to Rodney snickered, drawing Rodney – and his scowl – directly to the man. Maybe on Atlantis that look might have sent a few scientists scurrying, but the man in the farmer-like threads just grinned stupidly.

" What're you laughin' at!" McKay snarled. Ronon immediately put his hand on the physicist's shoulder.

" McKay... Play nice..."

McKay jerked his arm free of Ronon's hand. " Or what? You're gonna tattle on me to mommy Teyla and Daddy Lorne? I already told you to kiss off... so kiss off again! You're not the boss here. You can't push me around. You're not Sheppard! Gaw, that freakin' idiot!"

Ronon bristled at that. " You don't mean that," he growled, more as a warning than a question.

McKay snorted, took a drink, and laughed dryly. " Oh like hell I do... don't... do... I do mean it! The man was an idiot. You know why? Because only idiots fly head on into wraith hive ships with the intent... of never coming back!"

The drunken farmer perked up at that. " Someone took on a wraith hive ship?"

Rodney's scowl became a twisted expression of fury. " None of your business, farmer Brown! So just butt out!"

But 'farmer Brown' had stopped listening, and was pointing at McKay. " Hey, this fellow knows a fellow who took on a wraith hive ship!"

Others soon took up the perking action, even the bartender, who paused in his act of wiping down the counter. " Really? What's the fellows name?"

Rodney's jaw twitched with unseen teeth grating together. " That fellow," he fumed, and Ronon was certain that Rodney's head was going to explode at any moment, just like in that weird movie about the mind-readers. What was it called? Skinners or Scanners or something.

" Is dead!" McKay barked. " So don't _even_ start going off on what a great hero he must be, because he's not, he's _dead!_ Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. Dead as a doornail, kicked the bucket, bought the farm, would be six feet under if his body hadn't exploded to be floating around like frozen chunks of hamburger in space. He's dead, so I don't know what the hell you find so impressive about that."

" Hey!" another guy shouted. " If he died taking on the wraith, you shouldn't be putting him down. That man sounds like a hero."

Rodney's lip curled to finally reveal his clenched teeth. He whirled on the guy, stabbing a finger toward him though he was halfway across the room. " What the hell did I just say! He's not a hero! He's a freakin' moron who had a death wish... _and got the wish granted! What the hell kind of hero is that! Huh?_ Oh wait, isn't that a definition of a hero – the guy who gets everyone killed, _including himself!_ So go ahead, call him a hero, despite the fact that he died... accomplishing absolutely nothing!"

" At least he tried," Someone else joined in.

" Oh, yeah, and that makes it okay then. He died trying. Way to freakin' go Sheppard. You _almost_ got the wraith. And that's what you'll be remembered for, how you _almost_ got the wraith. No offense but I've yet to see a tombstone with the words 'he tried, so that's okay' on 'em. Sorry, but 'try' doesn't cut it if you're just going to end up dead in the end."

The man who'd spoken stood up from his seat. Tall as Ronon, muscled as Ronon, and with a look of irritation that had Ronon impressed.

" Anyone who takes on the wraith is worthy of recognition. You should have more respect for your fallen friend... if he even was your friend."

Ronon cocked both eyebrows at that, and turned his eyes back to McKay. White faced, wide-eyed, and starting to pant as flames sparked and ignited in Rodney's pupils, the scientist's head began moving slowly from side to side.

" Ooooh don't you _even_ assume anything about me. You don't know me, and you didn't know Sheppard, and what an _idiot_ he was." McKay, shoving away his mug, started advancing on the much bigger man, who stood straight with thick arms crossed over a broad chest. McKay clenched his fists tight at his side until they shook.

" That stupid, cocky SOB was a suicidal _freak_ who never knew when to call it quits. We needed him, but did he get that? Noooooo! He was too busy going kamikaze on us all the time... until he finally succeeded. Honestly? I hope he's rotting in hell."

McKay was standing before the big guy now, head coming only a little passed the man's chest, which he proceeded to poke in emphasis of each word. " Because he – doesn't – deserve – to be called – a _hero_!"

The man's eyes blazed, his face darkened, and his meaty hand swatted McKay's smaller hand away. And that was it. McKay raised a balled fist and slugged the guy's jaw. The big man's head snapped around, which was pretty good for a man of McKay's stature and build, in Ronon's opinion. Rubbing his jaw, the man looked down at McKay, then plowed into him, knocking him to the floor where the two grappled, exchanging punches and profanities.

Ronon sighed heavily. He pushed away from the bar and shoved through the gathering crowd urging the combatants on. When he stepped up to the fray, he reached down and snagged Rodney by the collar to pluck him away from the big guy's assaults. McKay bucked, kicked, and swung blindly, shouting, urging the big man to take him on.

Ronon yanked Rodney to his feet and proceeded to drag him from the bar, kicking and screaming for real. Ronon tossed an apology, and a metal coin obtained in a trade using chocolate, to the bar keep. Once outside, he continued to drag Rodney away from the bar and up the street toward the inn. Yet rather than entering the two story place, he veered into a shadow-thick alley and shoved Rodney against the wall.

" You need to cool down," Ronon rumbled. Rodney pushed off from the wall enough to stand straight, seething, blood dripping down his nose and the side of his face from his eyebrow.

" Don't...!" he started.

Ronon raised his hand. " Yeah, yeah, tell you what to do. Get used to it. Until you start thinking with your head on straight, I'm going to keep telling you what to do. Teyla and Lorne too. You're part of a team, a team with a leader _you_ have to take orders from."

Rodney, wiping away more blood, turned away to stare at the ground. " We have no leader. We have a negotiator and a grunt with a gun. Doesn't make them our leader." He swayed a little. Ronon reached out a hand to help, only to have Rodney shrug it away with a snarled, "don't!"

Ronon backed off. Beyond the alley, the streets were lit up by the flickering lamps. A wagon trundled by, kicking up a cloud of dust behind it. And somewhere in the distance came the echo of shouts and laughter.

Ronon and Rodney fell into silence, Ronon still with arms folded, and Rodney scuffing the dirt-packed ally street with his boot-heel, still swaying, drawing close to topple-time. Each minute gave Rodney time to reflect, and possibly gather himself as best as his chemically-hazed mind would allow. Ronon wasn't going to waste any of those minutes trying to talk sense into McKay. Talking wasn't exactly a favorite pastime for Ronon, and half the time most people didn't listen anyways, so there wasn't much point to it. McKay was proof of that. It was almost natural, subconscious, to tune him out. But if the scientist wanted to talk – right here, right now – Ronon would listen. Of course, that didn't mean he would be sympathetic about it.

Not if he was going to keep bad mouthing Sheppard in order to avoid the truth.

Finally, Ronon got tired of the wait.

" You don't hate Sheppard," he stated.

Rodney kicked a rock out into the street. " Don't assume..."

" I'm not."

Rodney snorted. " What the hell do you know?"

" I know that you don't hate him."

Rodney began pacing, slowly, back and forth, still scuffing. " Yes, I do. The man's a bastard."

" Why?"

The question struck a nerve. Rodney whirled around, the fire rekindled and blazing even hotter. " Because he is! We need him, he's not here, got himself killed thanks to his exquisite and impeccable timing and bone-headed decision making, and on top of that... It's our fault! And we didn't even need his freakin' help! Bet you thought he'd abandoned us, didn't you? Don't deny it, you did. You had to. I certainly did! So you had to, only logical, only right. Everything was fine that way until we got home and – low and behold – we find out _he's dead_! Dead people don't save lives, Dex. Apparently, Sheppard didn't get that memo. And, son of a bitch, I miss him...! I – miss - him! And I hate feeling like this, always wishing him back, hoping he's actually out there somewhere, then getting smacked in the face each time we don't find him! I hate it! And I hate _him_ for doing this to me! Making me feel this crappy and like crap! And making me feel even more like crap for being pissed at him! _The man's dead and he still won't leave me alone!_ What the hell kind of friend would do that, huh?"

Rodney swayed – the big one this time – and would have crumpled to the ground if Ronon hadn't caught his arm. He aided Rodney in easing to the ground against the wall of the neighboring building. Even sitting, the scientist's head wobbled on a flaccid neck.

Ronon stared down at Rodney. " I miss him to," he said.

" See?" Rodney replied. " He's a bastard."

Ronon shook his head. " You're going to regret saying that when you're sober."

Rodney snorted. " Doubt it. I was thinking it two hours ago, I'm just saying it out loud now."

" Doesn't matter. You'll regret it. He was your friend."

" If you say so."

SGA

A/N: Sorry if I seem to be making Rodney out as a jerk. I'm really not. Just keep reading and you'll see. I'm quite fond of Sheppard/McKay friendships.


	6. When?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The reviews have motivated me and candies to you all for them. Since everyone's been quite restless concerning John getting out of Harl's clutches, I decided to post this chapter extra early. But don't think it a regular thing since I still need to take it slow. The ending is continuing to give me trouble.

A/N: The reviews have motivated me and candies to you all for them. Since everyone's been quite restless concerning John getting out of Harl's clutches, I decided to post this chapter extra early. But don't think it a regular thing since I still need to take it slow. The ending is continuing to give me trouble.

  
**6**   


It was like a dance; a lovely, deadly little dance with no music, no pattern. All impromptu. John was good at impromptu, but Teyla was better. They circled each other like wolves over the scraps, prowling and fixated one on the other with muscles tense enough to rip themselves apart. Teyla kept her arms stiff, John kept his loose, but they were both wound tight enough to spring like a fanatic jack in the box.

" How much longer?" John asked. Teyla lunged, and sticks clacked with the reverberation of gunshots. Teyla was offensive, John defensive, and he blocked every strike until she backed off and resumed the circular prowl.

" That depends on you, Colonel."

She attacked again, and John defended, but her strikes were fast and brutal, driving him back when the blocks did not work and the sticks struck him in the ribs and face. He gasped, and when Teyla backed off again, spat blood. She looked at the stain of blood on the floor, and her face slackened as though the sight saddened her. She returned her gaze to John.

" You must try," she pleaded, and the plea was like a metal switch to the heart. John wiped his mouth with a trembling hand.

" I am."

Teyla attacked again, fast, vicious, grunting out battle cries. She got John in the flank again, the face, the back, and finally the leg. The pain was tenacious. It refused to abate or even tone down. She drove John back into the wall of the gym, striking faster, furiouser. John warded but the strikes got through. Finally, Teyla stepped back.

" I know you are," she said, panting, despair making her eyes shimmer.

John heaved breaths, and shivered with pain and blood tracing lines down his face and back.

She moved toward him, and he shrank back, gripping the sticks tight. She backed off, almost ashamed, it seemed, with her eyes cast to the floor.

Strength abandoned John and he slid down the wall to the floor. He shook his head. " I – I can't..."

Teyla's head shot up, and despair became desperation. " Colonel, you must. You can. You are stronger than this, far stronger. You cannot give in."

John couldn't stop shivering. He sighed, so weary that eternal rest sounded nice right about now. " How much longer?"

Teyla approached him and knelt before him. He twitched when she reached out her hand, and relaxed when she placed that hand on his head to stroke his hair. Her sorrow was painful to see, but her eyes held his, locked his gaze so he could never turn away.

" I do not know."

His heart sank. No, plummeted like a rock through thin air. There had to be an end. If there was a purpose, there was an end, a goal to reach, a task to achieve. there had to be, or why keep fighting?

John's whole body sagged in inexorable exhaustion. " I'm so tired, Teyla. I wanna sleep..."

Teyla smiled, and it was such a sad smile there seemed no point to its existence. " I know. But it can be fought. You are a fighter John. It is an instinct for you. Let it guide you. Let it save you. Let it bring you to the end, whatever end that might be. You always say, you would rather go down fighting."

John chuckled wearily. " Yeah, I do."

He gathered the small flecks of energy scattered about his body to congeal them into one center mass. Teyla rose and stepped back. John gripped the sticks, and lunged. The dance resumed, the offensive was John's.

It still hurt like hell.

SGA

Kace cracked his eye open to the twilight illumination of the prison, and smiled.

 _No time like the present._ Tonight was the night. He probably could have pushed the time without incident, but he admitted to the fault of impatience, and he didn't know how well days old blood would work on the scanner lock.

The wonders of mind-reading turned potential kinks in the system to big, gaping chasms. The scanners did not read palm prints as the black-clad meat heads made it appear. They read biological structure, the teeny-tiny bits and pieces that formed the human structure – or something like that. Kace didn't care for the details, they didn't matter. What mattered was that there was more than one way to open the lock.

Kace rolled from his bed, turning to plant his feet firmly on the floor. He was feeling smug. He knew it was pushing fate, since irony was so eager to humble the prideful, but it was a hard emotion to push down. Thankfully, his overwhelming enthusiasm was not so tricky to temper. He crept across the floor to the huddle figure on the bed.

More pushing fate. If he did this wrong, then he and Sheppard would be in a fix. Kace wasn't up on the idea of having to break Sheppard's neck if the wild man attacked, but if Sheppard's waking was a feral one involving slender fingers squeezing the life out of Kace, then he'd have no choice. Kace positioned himself into a ready crouch with thigh and calf muscles tense. He slowly reached out, jabbed his finger hard into Sheppard's back, then scuttled back a ways.

Sheppard moaned, shifted, but stayed sleeping. Kace scowled, scuttled forward, poked harder, scuttled back. This time he got nothing. Kace began grinding his teeth.

" Shep. Hey Shep!" he hissed. No response, no movement, time to up things. Kace moved forward. " Shep!" and smacked Sheppard across the back of the head.

The reaction was immediate. Sheppard gasped and bolted upright with Kace bolting back. Sheppard's eyes were animal mad as they darted about the darkened cell, chest heaving with wild pants.

Kace grinned, and inched forward still folded in a crouch. " Easy friend Shep, easy there. It's all right. It's just me, your pal Kace."

Sheppard's eyes lock incomprehensibly on Kace. As Kace neared, Sheppard shrank back. Kace rose just a little in order to hold his hands out before him.

" It's okay Shep. I'm not going to hurt you." He stopped four feet from Sheppard's bed. " It's all right. You're all right. Now, I need you to listen to me. Are you listening? Do you hear me? Because this is _really_ important."

Kace felt John's inner turmoil like a twister in his brain, but he'd been sensing that the day he met the man. It increased as John tried to puzzle the current situation out. After several agonizingly long minutes of battling his own brain, Sheppard finally, hesitatingly, nodded.

Kace breathed out a relieved sigh. " Good, good Shep. Keep paying attention, all right? I think you're gonna like this. You wanna get out of this place? Want the pain to stop, and the bad man to leave you alone?"

No brainer there. Sheppard immediately nodded, and his head twitched.

Kace grinned. " Wonderful, because today's your lucky day. You get what you want. You see, I don't want to stick around here either, Shep. What say you come with me, huh? You stick close, I get you out of here. Of course, we have to make a few stops along the way, but no big matter." Kace tapped his own skull with one finger. " Got all we need to avoid our mutual enemies right up here. You stick with me, you're home free. Know what I mean? Freedom?"

Even in the wan light, Kace saw Sheppard's eye light up like miniature suns, pooling with tears of desperation. He moved his head in a jerky nod.

" Fly," Sheppard croaked so quietly that Kace barely heard it.

" Yeah, exactly. Fly out of here. Flee. And all you gotta do is stick close, and I swear I won't let anything happen to you. Sound good?"

Sheppard nodded.

" You up for it?"

Sheppard nodded again. No matter his injuries, Kace could sense the chemical conflagration that would give the man the energy he needed to do this. " Right, good. Just remember to stay close, keep quiet, and do _exactly_ as I say."

Another nod.

To test how good a listener Sheppard was, Kace moved toward the cell door. John slid from his own bed into a crouch and followed. Mission one accomplished. On to mission two.

Kace pulled the bloody cloth from his pocket, and sucked in a sharp breath while muttering a silent prayer to the Ancestors. " Here's to fortune and faith," he said. He slipped his arm between the bars and pressed the bloodied side of the cloth to the scanner. He waited, and waited, and waited...

A beep, a thunk, and the door moaned open an inch. Kace winced at the sound and gritted his teeth to stifle a cry of triumph. He looked back at an expectant Sheppard to give him a massive smirk.

" Freedom, little friend. Step one."

Kace turned back to the cell door. With a caution that made his hands tremble, he eased the door open enough for him to slip through, and held it as Sheppard ghosted him. Once out, Kace released the door that remained in the same position. Sheppard crouched beside Kace, patient as a loyal pet. Kace held up a finger.

" Give me a moment." He expanded his mind to encompass the entire prison, just enough to get a general impression of the current states of minds. All incoherent and rambling. The prisoners were asleep, but some lighter than others. They would have to move fast.

" Stay in the center of the hall," Kace whispered. He rose, just a little, up enough to move fast, while low enough to be a little less conspicuous. Sheppard mimicked his every move. They hurried down the corridor and crouched on reaching the prison door. Kace pressed the cloth to it, minutes passed, and the lock made a tiny beep. The familiar thunk sounded that made Kace grimace. No time to lose, it was a hard sound not to hear. He inched the door open, again enough to squeeze his body through while keeping the rusty hinges from crying out. Kace slipped passed the barrier, Sheppard following with more ease. Again, Kace left the door as it was, and the two straightened to hurry up the stairs.

Again, another canyon like flaw was the fact that the prison keeper relied too much on the scanner locks. The portly man's snores carrying from his little niche at the bottom of the stairwell stayed with Kace and John until they were on the other side of the door at the top of the stairs. A wraith sucking the fat man dry wouldn't have wakened him, not from that drunken stupor.

The grandiose halls of the Chief Judge's mansion were patched and angled sharply in black and dark blue. Kace cast his mind about, sensing presences. A few upstairs, several in the room across the hall, none in the immediate area. They were good to go.

Kace kept to the wall, John followed. Up the short flight of stairs, passed the room with all the alien gadgets to stop at the next chamber beyond. Mental imagery snatched here and there had aided Kace in forming a kind of mental map. This room was Harl's private study, and it was usually the private places of the rich where all the best collections were kept. Kace wrapped his fingers around the brass handle and pulled the door open wide enough for the two to slip through.

The massive window across the room spilled snowy-white moonlight over everything, sharpening objects with shadow and silver blue. Kace licked his lips.

Glass cupboards and open shelves covered the walls, and light sparked off all the shiny pretties cluttering every shelf whenever Kace moved. His fingers twitched to take the larger objects, but common sense had him noting the smaller, easier to pocket trinkets. Crystal candle sticks, boxes of precious metals inlaid with more crystals every color of the rainbow, antique items from long dead civilizations, and more of those alien devices, a few blinking to life whenever he moved near with Sheppard keeping close behind. Kace ran his fingers across the edge of the open shelves, and gingerly touched the glass of a cupboard.

" My friend Shep." He looked back at the skinny man, and grinned. " Say hello to the high life."

Sheppard blinked at him, then looked at the objects, growing nervous at the blinking alien gizmos that were such a bane to his life. Kace's grin softened to a smile of sympathy. It was a mighty big temptation to grab some of the devices and use gentle coaxing and kindness to get Sheppard to do what Harl couldn't. Harl's impatience, fear, and putting his need for self preservation above all else had been his undoing. Kace had caught Harl's worries – saw his plots and plans. The chief Commander wanted results on activation of the devices – immediate results. Had Harl not let paranoia get the better of him – have him jumping to cruelty and torture – he could have earned Sheppard's trust...

Or maybe not. Kace couldn't be certain. There was something more, a reason why pain was utilized rather than civility, and also why even in his warped state Sheppard still managed to scrounge up the resolve not to reveal what the shiny gizmos could do.

Besides, Kace had his own setbacks. Number one, there was no saying what these items were capable of, and activating a weapon while it was being pointed in the wrong direction was good incentive not to activate it at all. Number two, it would make Kace no better than Harl or Gorek. And number three, it wasn't a necessity. Better to buy known weapons with what he stole then mess with the unknown.

Kace reached out his hand and placed it lightly enough on Sheppard's shoulders to only produce a flinch rather than have him pulling away. Kace didn't let the hand linger. Bad time to be pushing fate.

" Relax, friend Shep. We won't be taking any of those what's-its."

Sheppard relaxed, but didn't take his eyes from the device.

Kace glanced around until his gaze landed on an ornate rug made of the shimmering thread that was so rare, spread out before Harl's desk. The rug was medium size, thin, but Kace knew the threads to be strong. It was why they were so coveted. That rug could last a thousand years before ever getting a single fray. Kace hurried over to it and dragged it over to the shelves. Small items, such as rings and artifacts, he shoved into the hidden pockets inside his coat. The slightly larger palm-sized boxes and like-sized knick-knacks he set on the rug.

Sheppard followed him, watching curiously, nervously, anxiously. Kace flashed him a reassuring smile before peering into a slightly larger box and proceeding to remove the jewels there in. " See anything you like? Take it. This is free shopping, my friend. Anything a hand span or smaller is up for grabs."

Sheppard looked from him to the shelves. He stepped back, and reached up to pull two long, heavily carved sticks resting crossed on a stand on the top-most shelf. Not even close to being a hand-span. More like an arm span, maybe longer, tipped with a dark, burnished gold on one end, and some kind of rough leather on the other from what Kace could see. Sheppard didn't toss them onto the rug, just held them, one in each hand hanging loosely at his sides.

Kace looked at Sheppard, and Sheppard Kace.

 _Weapons_. The word flashed through Sheppard's mind. Important weapons, ones that made Sheppard feel comfortable, safe, as though they had been his all along. Kace shrugged.

" Not exactly what I had in mind when I said take what you want. But weapons might not be a bad idea."

Kace moved along the shelves, then to a cupboard. He became the one to follow Sheppard's example, and took an ornate set of knives from a cupboard. One he tossed to Sheppard, the other he slipped into his belt. He moved quick on grabbing this and that, glancing over his shoulder, opening his mind wide to sense presences. When he felt one, he paused, and waited, but it grew distant when whoever it was turned down some hall or into some room. That was the only flaw to his telepathy; the need for visual contact for the deeper reads. Everything else was just heightened empathy.

Again, not a good time to push fate. It was actually painful to pull away from the shelves still bursting with goodies. But the small pile on the rug satisfied his need. He could get a lot with that pile – better weapons, clothes, food, maybe even purchase some sort of space transport or a list of ring symbols to one of those paradise worlds he'd heard rumor about (if they were more than just rumor). Kace took the corners of the rug and pulled them up to form a sack that he lifted and slung softly over his shoulder, keeping the items from clattering. Kace looked back at Sheppard.

" Let's go."

Sheppard nodded. They slipped out of the room, continuing to keep to the walls, heading to the end of the corridor and turning right. Another corridor, only this one ending at the biggest – it seemed – of all the chambers, even more bursting with shiny trinkets, but all too large for Kace to risk carrying. Armor, for the most part, and larger weapons like staffs and spears. Vases, bowls, pictures, mirrors, and more odd antiques – Harl knew how to throw his riches around. The vases could have fetched a price capable of feeding ten families for ten years.

The bigger divide between rich and poor was technology. As folks outside these walls made their living scratching through dirt in an effort to urge vegetables to grow, Harl's act of 'work' was to spout out judgment without trial. Technology did the rest for him; holding the prisoners and safe-guarding the house.

As Kace always liked to tell a few of his old buddies – it paid to be rich. In Kace's case, rich wasn't the goal. Taking what he needed to obtain what he _really_ needed was the purpose. Ammo, weapons, food – means of survival. And the rich provided it. Plus it gave him something to do.

Kace headed to the other end of the room and the door there leading into the kitchen. He pulled the bloody cloth from his pocket and slapped it on the scanner. A beep then click. Kace hauled the door open and the two entered the massive kitchen with its ten stoves and tables. The exit to freedom was on the other side. Kace slowed, and scanned the area beyond. Presences, but not close enough to worry about. He pressed the cloth to the scanner, the thing beeped, and the door clicked open.

The two men stepped into the moist night with their breath misting in the air. Kace sucked in that air until his lungs felt scrubbed clean of urine stench.

" Oh yeah! Smell that Shep? If freedom had a scent, this would be it. Breathe it in, friend. Breathe it in deep."

He looked back at Sheppard. The skinny man was studying his surroundings with anxious confusion, and he was shivering. Kace sensed the beginnings of relief, but it was as though Sheppard were treading toward it warily, like one approaching an animal they didn't want to spook. Smart man. Don't start jumping up and down in joy until freedom was a certainty. They weren't out of this yet, not until they were through the ring where Harl could never find them.

There was more, though. The confusion was tapering toward fear. Kace knew that the moment he had decided to bring Sheppard along that there would be no immediate parting once out of that den of debauchery. With Sheppard's brain shot to the nether world, he wouldn't be able to survive on his own. Fortune for him, his friends were somewhere around – hopefully, considering if they hadn't already gone back to their own world.

There could be a reward involved for returning Sheppard to them. Good incentive to seek them out. That and the good night's sleep knowing that Kace hadn't simply abandoned Sheppard. Kace wasn't keen on having partners – he enjoyed solitude too much for that - but neither was he as heartless as he tried to make himself out as being.

Kace jerked his head to the left. " This way," he said. Like with inside, they kept to the walls and the shadows they created, and Kace opened his mind to the presences patrolling the grounds. When they came to the to where the wall turned, Kace stopped, crouched, and waited as the presence on the other side moved away. His eyes were on the forest across the open grounds. He pulled his gaze away to peer around the corner. The guard taking this section wasn't in sight. Time to move.

" Run, Shep," Kace hissed. He started the race, but Sheppard being unhindered by a rug full of trinkets eventually took the lead, slowing enough to stick by Kace. They tore across the grounds for the darkness of the forest, the cold air biting their faces and lungs. Sheppard stumbled, wheezing, but caught himself before falling.

" Keep it up Shep!" Kace hissed again.

A bellowing shout snapped through the silence like a shot. " Hey!"

Kace didn't need to chance a glance over his shoulder. He could feel the guard's presence closing in fast blazing with rage and panic.

" Move it, Shep!" Kace cried. Redundant words with Sheppard, even weak as he was, several steps ahead, fueled by the fiery chemical of fear. Fortune wasn't smiling on Kace, and was forcing him to make a choice. Loose the goods or get overtaken by the guard. Fate made the decision when he stumbled and tripped. The clatter of trinkets drew Sheppard's attention. He glanced back, slowed, and whirled to race back to Kace. Behind Kace, the guard was close enough for him to hear the thump and crunch of pounding footfalls. Kace tried to scramble to his feet which kept slipping from him on the wet grass.

" Blast!" he cursed, slipping, scrambling, clawing the dirt, and slipping again. That's when Shep reached him at the same time as the guard. Kace twisted enough to see Sheppard strike the guard across the face with one of the sticks. The guard lurched sideways, righted, and pulled a gun from his holster that Sheppard swiftly knocked from his hands with the second stick while simultaneously whipping another strike to the face with the first. The man stumbled back, Sheppard stalked forward, and dropped into a crouch to swing the first stick and knock the guard from his feet onto his back.

Without hesitation, Sheppard rose, moved forward a little, twirled the sticks, and whacked the guard unconscious with both. Dispatching the guard barely registered on Sheppard's emotional wave. He was completely blank, and the only result of his exertion was his heavy panting and trembling arms. He transferred his right stick into his left hand to reach down to Kace. Kace gave Sheppard a look of momentary bewilderment, then finally took the offered hand. He nearly pulled Sheppard down hauling himself back to his feet. Kace slapped his hands together, ridding them of grass, and picked up his sack of goodies to sling back over his shoulder.

Kace regarded Sheppard with a mix of wonder and incredulity, then clasped the man's bony shoulder and smiled.

" You're a weird one, friend Shep. Makes me glad I'm obviously on your good side."

The lack of emotion was gone. Fear had wormed its way back in, stronger than before, hand in hand with more confusion as though Sheppard had just woken up in a strange place. He looked down at the sticks, then at Kace, asking without speaking concerning what had just happened.

Kace could only shrug. " You saved my butt, friend. Let's just leave it at that and get out while we still can."

He clasped Sheppard's shoulder again to give him a little shove forward. Sheppard moved, only to falter two steps in so that Kace had to grab his arm. He kept hold of that arm when Sheppard's exhaustion hit Kace like a wave. The skinny man was shaking bad now, his legs even more so. He practically half-dragged Sheppard to the safety of the trees where they finally slowed, and Kace let Sheppard lean against him.

" Town's not that far," Kace said. " Then we can rest."

Sheppard nodded numbly.

SGA

A/N: If you're thinking to yourself " how could Sheppard fight so well if he's so weak?" then you forget the wonders of adrenaline.

And, yes, I know you wanted the team to be the ones to rescue Sheppard, but don't count their involvement out yet.


	7. Fractured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Your reviews make the muses' day. Ya'll are the bomb! And we thank ye.

A/N: Your reviews make the muses' day. Ya'll are the bomb! And we thank ye.

  
**7**   


Lorne kept McKay in sight out of the corner of his eyes. Not really necessary with the physicist leaning heavily against Ronon, groaning with one hand clamped to his head, face vividly splotched with bruises various shades of blue, black, and violet. Standing before the massive doors of the mansion, all McKay needed were a few holes in his clothes, and the moment the door opened he would have been thrust out on his ass in the assumption that he was a beggar. Lorne rolled his eyes.

He wanted to say – more like think – that McKay was just milking his hangover, but the scientist had been a lot less hypochondriac as of late.

Sighing, Lorne pounded the iron knocker against the door again. " Dr. McKay, I really suggest you sleep this off. You can come back in the morning."

McKay moaned. " No. I wanna get this over with."

" I doubt you'll be able to tell an ancient device from a fork," Lorne mumbled. He could have ordered McKay back to the inn. Teyla called most of the shots being the off world expert and all, but in terms of the team's safety and health, that was Lornes' call. Lorne was normally stubborn about not backing down. However, his mirrored desire to want to ditch this place – and his secondary desire to avoid hearing Rodney whine – had weakened his resolve. Rodney's hangover might slow the studying process, but if the physicist stumbled on a device worth trading for, they might get out of this world by supper time, so Lorne let McKay have his way.

Teyla knocked next, brow creased, eyes troubled. " They are normally not so long in answering," she said. That had Lorne's mind snapping out of its annoyed introspections.

" Think something's up?" he asked.

Teyla shook her head, brow still furrowed. " I do not know. My familiarity with these people is limited. My own people have had few dealings with them in the past since they are more interested in trading for advanced weapons that crops or clothes."

Lorne nodded. " Yeah, and the way these folks live you'd think they'd never come into an Ancient device in their life."

McKay snorted. " Ditto with the Genii."

The physicist had a point. Many of the civilizations of the Pegasus galaxy were good at hiding the fact that they were more advanced than they appeared, clinging to the belief that it got the wraith off their backs a little more by not seeming such a threat. Lorne wasn't the one to be saying whether or not the ploy worked and a difference was made. To him, a culling was a culling, and no one seemed unable to avoid them no matter how back woods a society made themselves out to be.

Teyla knocked again. Three pounds with the knocker and the door burst open to a panting, frazzled, elderly man with a thin mustache and pointed beard. Seeing the team had the man's eyes rounding into perfect circles.

" Oh! You! Oh my, I completely forgot... Um... I'm afraid that Chief Judge Harl will be unable to entertain you this day. He has some important business that needs attending to which does not allow his home to be open to any visitors. I am very sorry. If you are willing to wait a day, you may be permitted to enter tomorrow. Chief Judge Harl apologizes. Now if you will excuse me..."

He didn't allow for any of the team to respond when he shut the door in their faces. Lorne exchanged looks with Teyla and Ronon. Rodney was looking as though someone had just slapped him – slack jawed and wide-eyed.

" What the freakin' hell!" he snarled with a tenor of whining. He lurched from Ronon to grab the knocker and start beating it against the door. " Hey! Get your butt back out here! What the hell is this...?"

Teyla rested her hand on Rodney's arm. " Dr. McKay. It is all right. We will come back tomorrow."

Rodney slowly moved his gaze from the door to the Athosian, and Lorne could practically feel the man's fury like a heated vibration in the air.

" Tomorrow? Tomorrow! I don't want to come back here tomorrow! I want to get this stupid waste of time over with and go home!" Rodney stabbed a stiff finger at the door. " They invited us here! They promised us a trade! If they had future plans that were going to get in the way of that then why the hell did they invite us at all!"

Lorne jumped in then. " They didn't think we'd be here for more than a day. The longer stay was your idea, Dr. McKay." Probably not a good idea to lay this on the physicist, but McKay's temper was something Lorne had become good at tuning out.

As predicted, Rodney's eyes blazed. " Are you saying this is my fault?"

Lorne let his eyes go heavy lidded. " No. I'm saying that they didn't expect the longer stay. It's one day, Dr. McKay. I think you can last one day. If not, just say the word, we'll leave a message, and head out now."

" And make this even more of a wasted effort? Oh no. We're going to stay and find a lesser of all these useless devices to bring back to Elizabeth. Might as well since we'll only get an ear-full if we don't..." Rodney winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. " Ah crap! This sucks..." His shoulders slumped, and his face fell. " We should just head back."

Lorne's mouth twitch in want of smiling. A lovely tool – reverse psychology. Although a large part of Lorne had been hopeful that McKay would jump on the suggestion to head back home.

They stepped from the massive porch and headed back onto the dirt road leading to town, McKay back to needing Ronon's help just to stay upright. It wasn't any sudden realization that Ronon had been more inclined to stick with Rodney the past couple of weeks without being ordered to do so. No surprise to that. Adversity tended to forge stronger bonds, and the two men's escape from the wraith hadn't been a skip through the meadow for either. They'd been discovered in the lone wraith dart days after the hive ships had hyper-jetted off the radar. Both men had been dehydrated, delirious, and Rodney had nearly succumbed to blood loss. No story was required to let everyone in on the fact that they had walked the fires of hell and survived. And because of that, the unspoken bond had fused once and for all. Ronon hardly ever told McKay to be quiet anymore – not completely, just hardly.

They entered the town and fell into the flow of bodies coming and going along sidewalks and the dusty street. Buggies pulled by reptile-like horses clattered by raising clouds, and on occasion (more so today it seemed) hummed the little cart-like cars possessed only by military and security. Yesterday they'd been a rarity, today they were spooking the crap out of the lizard horses.

The muscles of Lorne's shoulders and back tightened, and alarms sparked in his brain. " This doesn't look promising," he mumbled. Both Teyla and Ronon picked up on the reason for his sudden unease. Increase of security never heralded anything promising.

Rodney hardly noticed as he was squinting against the bright light of the glaring day. " What? What the hell are you talking about?"

Lorne nodded toward a passing mini-car. " Something's going on. More patrols, and people are looking a little nervous." And in a hurry to get where they were going. " I don't know about the rest of you, but I say we should use this as an excuse as to why we cut out of here early. I don't think Dr. Weir would fault us."

McKay glanced around, and slowly the goings on dawned on him. Patrols weren't just in cars. They were walking the streets as well, all with looks of intense concentration and determination, and armed to the teeth.

Lorne sifted through the possibilities for all this. " Either there's some kind of local turmoil going on – government thing – or... a prisoner escaped."

Rodney swallowed. " Possibly. Yeah, let's go home."

" I shall have someone send Judge Harl a message," Teyla said. That was what Lorne liked about this team – they caught on fast. Past experience taught them that at the first signs of potential chaos, it was time to hight-tail it out of Dodge, and not a second was to be wasted debating it.

" Good idea. Let's head back to the inn, grab our stuff, leave the message, then go before anyone seeks us out. We'll contact them tomorrow, see if what ever's going on has passed, tell 'em we had to leave for some emergency at home. That should keep them from getting offended or anything." There was a good chance they were being paranoid. But paranoia did pretty good at keeping them alive.

They increased their pace as fast as Dr. McKay's hangover would allow them. Lorne kept aware of the patrols' reactions to see if they picked on the alien teams' distress, but Lorne had the feeling that much of their determination was because they were nervous.

Prison escapes – if that was the case – must not have been a common occurrence. Or didn't reflect too well on the Chief Judge. And no one liked having a bad reputation.

SGA

Sheppard's angle against the wall let him see out the window without being seen. He saw the four, the faces, faces without names. People, people in dreams, and he knew them. He was supposed to know them. But maybe he made them up. No, you don't make people up and have them be real. They were real, he just saw them. And their faces sent pain spiking through his brain, like claws of fire ripping through his skull. He whimpered, shivered, and slid down the wall to huddle, begging his brain to shut up already.

SGA

Kace could be charming when he wanted to, and was one of the few men on any world that could admit it and know he was right. His smile was usually the ice-breaker, melting hearts of stone to putty. But there were the exceptions who fought it, and fought it hard – like Sereeka.

She kept her head down as she sifted through the shiny items in the silken rug laid out on the gritty floor. She wiped her nose on the dingy white sleeve of her blouse. Her sun-blond hair was pulled back from her face and hidden under a dark blue scarf, with a few strands framing her sharp, oval face. The large, blood-red skirt she wore whispered over the floor at the slightest movement, her booted feet scuffing when she shifted in her crouch.

" Good haul, Kace," she said, picking up some gold trinket then dropping it back with the rest.

Kace, also in a crouch before the pile, widened his grin. " Take your pick. Any one of these is worth your entire shop." The scent of baked bread slipping into Kace's nostrils from the door behind Sereeka had his stomach begging with grumbles and growls. " Lucky for your ma, I don't want the shop. Just a few loaves, maybe some meat strips for me and my friend back there." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to where Sheppard was. Sereeka looked up, but not at Kace.

" He okay?"

Kace glanced back at Sheppard bundled on the floor, trembling with eyes squeezed shut. Kace had already caught the waves of pain rolling from him, he just couldn't explain it, not unless he scanned Sheppard's mind.

" Not really." He looked back to Sereeka. Her eyes were still honed on Sheppard. She may have been a former guest of Harl's prison system at one time, but as much as she carried herself as a supposed criminal and a fellow member of the unofficial thieves guilt, the girl had heart. It was what made her so reliable. She would help Kace no matter the danger to herself, because it wasn't the first time Kace had helped her by sharing his spoils worth so much in exchange for a mere loaf of bread.

Sareeka twitched a smile that didn't reach her eyes. " Can see that. Just keep him away from the window." She looked back at the trinkets. " I don't know, Kace. If the bruiser squad finds out I helped you..."

" Have they yet? Come on Ser, it's just a bit of food. Give us the goods, take an item, and trade it quick as you can for something else. You're queen of the black markets, you know where to get the bests deals. Better that then having us hide out here waiting for the heat to die down. Come on."

Sereeka shrugged. Kace knew – as a fact – that she was attempting to haggle, get more than one item, maybe even three. Really they had no time for this. The girl may have had heart, but it fought fiercely with her greed. It was time to pull out the big guns.

Staying in a crouch, he moved over to Sheppard, still curled like a quaking rag heap. " Hey, Shep, come here. I don't think you've been properly introduced." He slid his fingers around John's bicep and tugged gently. Sheppard spasmed with alarm, snapping from his pain-filled fog enough to move, pretty much crawling across the floor, to the rug where he sat with knees drawn to his chest and arms wrapped around them. The pain still pulsed, but more as a throb now. Sheppard needed to rest, but not here and not now.

" Sareeka," Kace said. " This is my pal Sheppard. Sheppard, Sareeka."

Sareeka nodded at him. " What was he in for?"

Kace shrugged. " Don't know."

Sereeka jerked her head back at that. " But..."

" I know. Harl's been heavy with the brain scrambler on him. But I can tell you this – I don't think he was in for anything. Harl was just using him."

" And you helped him out because...?"

Kace shrugged again. " Felt bad for him."

Sereeka snorted out a laugh at that. " Oh you've got to be kidding me. Pity? You're risking your hide for this guy because of pity?"

Kace mocked offense. " What, you don't think I have it in me to pass out a little kindness? I like the guy. He didn't try to kill me, rob me, or swindle me. Besides, he helped me out a little with the escape. I owed it to him to help him out... just for a little longer, until I can ditch him some place safe. I'm still not looking for a partner... _Sereeka._ "

Sareeka smirked. " I know. You've told me... fifteen times. I can take a hint."

" Not really. Now you going to help us out? I mean look at this guy. How can you say no to giving food to a guy like him?"

Sereeka did look at him, and Kace felt the struggle as she tried not to give way to her own pity. The thin face with the colorful bruises, scabs, and bloodstains, the shadowed eyes with the sickly, confused stare, the way he was huddled, and the way he wouldn't stop trembling – it worked better than Kace's smile. Sereeka couldn't fight it. Pity blossomed in her like a flower. She looked back at the pile, and took a gold and silver bracelet inlaid with bits of prismatic crystals.

" Fine. Bread and meat it is." She looked at Kace, and gave him her own charming smile. " I'll even let you use our escape tunnel."

SGA

The majority of the older structures still retained the escape tunnels normally only found in the homes of the wealthy. They'd stopped being constructed when the ground became too unstable to support them. Sereeka's family business was ancient enough to still retain one. She led them to another room at the right, a pantry, and Kace helped her haul sacks and barrels away from the old trap door. Once cleared, Kace had Sheppard go first. He dropped the small sack of food down to the skinny man, who caught it. Kace then followed with a more effective sack for the trinkets and rug strapped to his back.

He used an electric light to illuminate the tunnel supported by wooden beams. Sereeka said it was about a quarter of a mile long, and would come out beyond the town into a heavily forested area. Kace moved at a pace conducive to what Sheppard could handle. Though Sheppard carried neither the trinket sack nor the food sack, he still stumbled, breathing with a wheeze, and he'd yet to stop shivering.

They came to the end, and a ladder leading up into what looked to be darkness until Kace shined the light at the capsule hiding the exit. He climbed first, reaching up to grab the handle and give it a twist. The capsule hissed with escaping air, popped open, and Kace shoved it the rest of the way. Sunlight poured over them white, blinding, and indescribably warm. Kace blinked, then inhaled deeply to release that air with a shouted whoop.

" Here's the air to breathe in, little friend!" he called down. " Real freedom!" He climbed from the hole and onto moist, mossy ground in a small clearing surrounded by tall, red-trunked trees. He peered into the hole to see Sheppard following, arms trembling with the effort. Kace dropped the food sack to reach in. Sheppard grabbed the proffered hand, and Kace hauled him the rest of the way out, the thin body dropping onto the ground, gasping. Kace grabbed Sheppard's arm for a secondary haul to the feet and let the man lean against him.

" Not yet, friend Shep. Just a little further." Kace crouched enough to grab the food bag, and they trudged on deeper into the woods, heading right as Sereeka had told them, toward the ring. Kace's plan? He wasn't quite sure yet. He needed to find those friends of Sheppard's, maybe wait near the gate enough to see it but not enough to be seen. The ring would be guarded, but the area not searched for some time, not until the town had been scoured nook to cranny first. The rest would be up to luck and the hope that Sheppard's friends headed back to their own world soon, but not too soon. Kace didn't mind the wait. He'd done it before. The guards weren't one hundred percent in their efforts, and the change in watch was when the best time to make a dash for the ring came. There would be plenty of opportunities to get through if Sheppard's friends lingered. But if that happened, then Kace would have no choice but to take on a partner.

The farther they trudged through the forest, over dead logs, fern clusters, and small hills, the more Sheppard leaned against Kace, his breath labored and raspy, and his tumbles increasing. Kace wasn't feeling too up for walking himself either, not with all the weight he had to carry. When they came to a small clearing that wasn't so mossy, Kace stopped, dropping the sack, then aiding Sheppard in easing him down against a tree. Sheppard went back to huddling, arms folded tight against his chest, and eyes heavy-lidded and blank.

Kace patted his shoulder. " You did good, friend Shep. You did good." He reached out and dragged the bag with the stolen goods inside closer to them both, reached in, and removed the two blankets Sereeka had handed over. He draped the brown blanket around Sheppard, and the shivering quickly subsided into twitches and shudders. Kace next pulled the food bag closer, rummaged around, and pulled out a loaf of bread he split in two, handing one half to Sheppard. The skinny man took it, bit into it, and chewed slowly without tasting.

Kace smiled and patted his shoulder again. " Hope for you yet."

SGA

Light always left the woods first before evening ever really came. Above, the tops of the trees were flecked with lingering gold, and the sky was gray-toned. Below, everything was various shades of gray and blue, and cool. Not a bad cool trying to drop the degrees down to intolerable cold. It was mild, tolerable, the kind of temperature that made sleeping out doors without the use of a fire possible, even enjoyable. Fortune was definitely smiling on Kace. This wasn't a good time for a fire with its pulsating light and pungent smoke that could be traced back to them if the right nose was following the unseen scent trail.

Fortune wasn't being too kindly to Sheppard in that respect. Even with the blanket he was still a quaking mass – and not out of fear this time around. The fear had been subdued, whittled down to uneasy wariness. A massive improvement in Kace's point of view. He knew it was selfish, but he'd been needing a break from Sheppard's never-ending aura of cold uncertainty-born terror.

Kace felt for the man, but was certain without a doubt that Sheppard would probably prefer the cold to Harl any day – were he right-minded enough to think at all.

The light hadn't faded enough to obscure sight. Sheppard was fading to a shadowed shape, just not yet with his pale face stark against the darkened tree trunk. Kace had passed the time regarding that face with the glassy eyes staring at nothing in particular – turned so inward Kace was surprised Sheppard could still see. Kace's internal debate – deep scan Sheppard or don't. There were three forms of a brain scan. The empathic that was constant, feeling presences and emotions, the regular, everyday scan of seeing what was on the surface – including dreams – then the more emergency based ability of the deep scan, which practically drilled into the subconscious. The latter tended to have an effect on the one being scanned, not always adverse, but in Sheppard's case the possibility was high. The scan usually brought those deep, hidden memories and emotions to the surface; never a good result for the mentally unstable and victims of a scrambler. Fragmented thought could not be forceably pieced back together. It had to be coaxed to keep the brain from overloading, shutting down, and either putting the person into a coma or killing them. Kace knew all of this from the images he'd gleaned from Gorek. The thug really was a fountain of info for being Harl's number one in security matters.

Kace picked up a twig and snapped it one-handed using his thumb. To scan or not to scan? There was safety to it if Kace had something to focus on. A lesser scan could help him find that something, but he'd just eaten and his stomach wouldn't take to kindly to the ride.

Unless Sheppard's brain had calmed down since their escape.

Kace tossed the mutilated stick away. The daytime sounds of the forest dwindled to a single, distant call that was both a hoot and a click. A stronger gusting breeze had the trees whispering, and the collar of Kace's coat flipping up into his face. He honed his empathic senses on Sheppard, but got only what he'd been feeling since they got to the woods – a constant stream of confusion.

Kace smirked bitterly. " They worked you over quite nice, friend Shep."

Sheppard's head twitched, then moved to meet Kace's gaze through the darkness. There was a small inkling of awareness in the previously glassy eyes. Kace caught the ripple of child-like curiosity - tempered, cautious, but unable to be held back. It was as though Sheppard were realizing Kace's presence for the first time.

Kace's smirk became a genuine smile. " Bet you're wondering why I rescued you, right? Well, you would be if you had sense enough to be wondering anything at all. You'd ask me straight on, and all I could give you was a shrug and an 'I don't know' in return. Not good answers, I know." Kace shifted to a more comfortable position against his own tree. " I would say pity played a part, but I doubt you'd like that. You don't seem the type who would. Too bad, though. Pity had plenty to do with it. But don't get me wrong. There's respect to it too." Kace sighed contentedly on finding the perfect position with one leg drawn up and the other stretched before him. " Really you've got my mother to thank. Woman had a heart in her the size of a mountain. Though my father wasn't without his compassion. Comes with the territory of a mind delver," Kace tapped the side of his head. " You don't go looking into other people's heads and continue with the notion that the world revolves around you. Some folks you come to understand, some you get more confused by. Where I come from, we're not a happy people, Shep. If we were left alone we would be. No crime, no secrets... not really any privacy either but you get used to that. Keeps you from giving into stupidity, because you know for an utter fact you're always being watched. Not judged, mind you, but folks are aware. And when you do something wrong, rather than the right out punishments, you get the silent treatment, and that hurts worse than any whooping my father sometimes gave me."

Kace chuckled, toying with a fresh twig, turning it over and over in his hands, studying it without comprehending it. " I'm sorry, I'm rambling. No, we're happy when left to our own devices as a group. It's everyone else who butts in, really, and they don't even read minds. Nope, they just use us to read everyone else's. My people have been drifters since before the wraith, it's said. Or maybe because of the wraith, don't really know anymore. And yet the Regime still manages to find us. The Regime – you might call 'em intruders that don't know how to leave. I'd say they were bad as the wraith... Well, they are, except for the whole eating thing. No, the Regime don't eat us. They just come in, take a few, get us to do their little bidding, and kill the ones they don't have use for. And why can't we fight 'em with our supreme mental powers? Because someone gave 'em a device that keeps us from entering their minds. Kind of like the device that put a twister in your head to shatter everything to pieces – except the one for us doesn't hurt, just keeps us out of the upstairs if you know what I mean. So we never see them coming. And they're mean about it. They won't hesitate to kill the ones that get in the way. They don't need that many, just a few."

Kace snapped the twig with his thumb at each inch-length interval. " My mother used to say 'we're in it together.' I used to think she was talking about our people in general, which she was I guess. But she was never the type to refuse help to a stranger. You can't ignore the suffering – she'd say that too. Silly me, I thought she was telling me what to do. But you know what? She wasn't reciting a rule... She was stating a fact." Kace tossed the stick away with a shrug. " Never really realized it 'til later on, and even then I held to being stubborn and always tried to put reason behind what I did. I never wanted to give into my mom's ideal world of folk helping folk when no one was so inclined to help us. When the Regime took my dad, and the wraith came and took my mom, I made it my mission to be the biggest thorn in everyone's side I could. Life became about maintaining my freedom. Steal to live, that was _my_ mantra. Live by the weapon, die by the weapon, and never be taken. But then butted in that pesky need to help out. And I tell you, friend Shep, you are the epitome of it, because you are of absolutely no use to me. But can I leave you behind? No! Not by a long shot. Why? I still don't know. Guess there doesn't have to be rhyme or reason to it... or maybe the fact that I like you is enough. Only my mom and dad had as much guts as you. Or maybe it has nothing to do with guts. Maybe you're so fractured in the skull, you don't realize what you're doing."

Twilight had come, the woods drenched in shades of dark and darker blue so that Kace could not longer see Sheppard's face, only the shape of his head and spiky hair. It was enough for a lesser scan attempt. Ignoring a protesting stomach, Kace went for it.

Images raced through his own mind; faces, places, feelings, one having nothing to do with the other, but all leading to other images, other faces, names, and feelings. It was like how the mind tends to wander, with one thought dredging up another. Yet instead of it being a leisurely stroll to enjoy the scenery, it was a race run by a hundred runners, pushing to take the lead, then falling back. Then it would stop when Sheppard could take no more. The mind would go blank – for a moment. Thoughts crept in, small ones, nothing significant, but would lead to something else, which would lead to something else, and the race would start up again. If there had been a sound to it, it would have been a deafening roar. Kace pulled out with a blink.

" It's a mess in there, Shep." Kace shook his head. " A real nasty mess." If dreams didn't flicker by so fast, they could have provided the info Kace sought. Sheppard had always proved most clam and steady during sleep. Kace sighed.

" Okay, how about this. How'd Harl get a hold of you, Shep? Think you could dredge that up for a second? I don't need that long."

Kace grimaced at what he was about to do, but it was a skill he'd sharpened over the years, enough to know when to pull out. He returned to scanning Sheppard, squinting against the onrush of images. " How'd Harl get you, Shep? How'd he find you...?"

Kace rolled from his position to creep closer to Sheppard, just enough to see the man's eyes through the darkness. Contact had to be more refined than a simple visual of the face. He stopped a foot from Sheppard, sat with legs crossed and hands clasped. " Come on, Shep... How'd Harl find you...?"

Flash, flash, flash. Too fast. Except... one image made a constant return. Looked like... space... Flash, ships. Flash, hive ships? Flash, Sheppard. Flash, Sheppard in a ship. Flash, a real flash, blinding. Flash, going down. Flash, crash, flash, pain, flash cry of agony, flash, cry for help, flash, voices, flash...

Contact broke when Sheppard dropped his head with hands snapping up to grab his hair. Kace felt pain smack him in the face, and he jerked back in shock, gasping.

" Ah no, Sheppard I am so sorry... I didn't mean..."

Sheppard was gasping, rocking, with twitches and muscle spasms increasing. The realization of what Kace had done was worse than the slap from the pain. He grabbed both of Sheppard's shoulders and gently eased him to the ground just as the man's body quaked and convulsed in a seizure. Kace's heart hammered hard enough to break out. He kept hold of Sheppard's shoulders as the man thrashed, arched up, gasped, and trembled with arms flailing rigidly. Pain and panic was all Kace could sense. Guilt stabbed him, and he didn't try to hold back the tears. They deserved to be shed. He knew he shouldn't have done this.

" It's okay Shep, it's okay. Just hang on, it'll be over soon. I'm sorry, I am so sorry..."

Sheppard kept arching, hands slamming onto the ground, clawing the dirt, beating against it. Any further, and Sheppard's spine was going to snap. Kace leaned onto him using his weight to try and push Sheppard down, feeling the viciously rapid pulse of the heart through the thin chest.

" Come on, Shep, come on, don't do this, just relax, come on..."

Suddenly, Sheppard's body dropped, Kace's dropping with it. The man went limp as a rag doll and, say for the heaving of his entire ribcage, didn't move. Kace scrabbled off of Sheppard and ran both hands over his prickly scalp.

" Oh wow! Oh that was bad." He put one hand back on Sheppard's chest, over the heart, and breathed out his relief to feel it descending to normal rhythms. He patted John's chest. " It's over Shep. Whew! It's over. You did good, Shep, you did good."

Kace proceeded to wrap the blanket tight around Sheppard's still-twitching frame. He pulled the rug from the bag of goods, and folded it into a pillow to place under the man's head. " I bust you out only to kill you? Some pal I am, huh, Shep? We won't be doing that again any time soon."

Guilt continued to gnaw at Kace; guilt and concern. He couldn't say if the scrambler was to blame, or the forced memories, but a seizure over a solitary event wasn't boding anything good. If one memory did this, what would a thousand memories called up by the familiar faces of old friends do?

SGA

A/N: What will they do indeed? Still with me? Feed a muse, leave a review.


	8. Horizon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Now for what you've all been waiting for...

A/N: Now for what you've all been waiting for...

  
**8**   


John stepped wide over ferns, dead branches, bramble, and young shrubs. Noise was minimized to the sudden crunch of moss and leaves, but a twig hadn't snapped yet. Not an easy feat to pull in a forest this thick. Add to that keeping a P-90 raised to remain trained on the way ahead. There were no sounds, just the crunch of forest carpeting and the whisper of leaves when a breeze disturbed them, a breeze that leaked cold though John's clothes and made him shiver. He darted his eyes to the right at Lieutenant Ford trudging evenly beside him.

" Can I trust him?" John conversationally asked. Probably not a good idea, speaking out loud; but nothing about it felt wrong.

Ford shrugged. " Can't really answer that, sir. You've got the better gut instincts. What do they tell you?"

John's arms shook trying to keep the P-90 raised. He should have found it odd, but like with talking out loud while stalking through the forest, felt nothing troubling about it. If anything, it seemed about right, he just couldn't remember why. John squinted.

" I – I don't know."

Ford swung his own weapon this way and that. " You've been following him this far. Apparently, you trust something about him."

John's breathing was going labored, and his arm tried to lower on its own accord. He let out a breathy laugh. " Yeah, apparently. He hasn't beaten the hell out of me yet." He stumbled.

" Sir," Ford said. " You should wait here, rest a little. I'll go on ahead."

John sucked in a deep breath that rubbed his throat raw. " You – you sure?"

" No." Ford looked away, for a moment, to flash his CO a smile. " But it's not like you have a choice."

John hated that, wanted to rebel against it, but the truth kept him frozen to the spot as Ford moved on ahead, vanishing within the close-clustered trees with their moss speckled trunks of rust red. John dropped his weary body onto an old log, promising himself he'd catch up as soon as he caught his breath. He heard the increasing crunch of footsteps, so turned his head to see Lorne coming out of the woodworks.

Lorne inclined his head. " Sir," then sat down on the log beside Sheppard, resting his P-90 in his lap.

John leaned forward, planting his elbows a little above his knees. " Hey Major," he said.

" Ford go on ahead?"

John nodded, sadness a ton of bricks in his chest. " Yeah, he did."

" Too bad. What about you, sir?"

John smiled bitterly. " What about me?"

" You going to keep following this guy?"

John turned his head to regard the major. " Think I should? He hasn't screwed me yet."

Lorne reclined with his back against the tree behind the log. " I think that alone is incentive enough. Not much to lose at this point."

" But for how long? How long do I keep going?"

Lorne sniffed and shook his head. " Can't answer that, sir. You're call, not mine. But – if you want my advice – I say for however long it takes. Kind of like walking a road, and your only destination is the horizon. You may not think that's much of a destination, but the thing about horizons is that you never know what's on the other side of 'em. All roads and all horizons lead somewhere, sir. Doesn't matter the miles or how far that horizon stretches. There's always a destination, an end."

John chuckled. " When'd you get so wise and all knowing?"

Lorne shrugged. " When necessity dictated it. Come on sir, you've come this far. What's a little farther? Nothing to lose."

John nodded. " Nothing to lose..."

" Sheppard? Sheppard!"

SGA

John's eyes snapped open, then his head snapped around in time to see the really bald man scuttling back like a crab. The man, when out of arm's reach, pushed forward into a wary crouch with both hands held out before him, empty.

" Easy, friend Shep, easy. Just needed to wake you. Gotta go, you see. Harl and his thugs could be anywhere. We need to get to the ring."

Ring? Ring. Round thing, ring. Ring, ring, ring... a noise? An object? Big round gate. Why did that sound about right? Well, it did. John studied the really bald man, whose name was... was... K-something. This sucked! Ring, ring, ring... _Ring around the Ro-sey!_ Gate, big gate – time to dial - to the stars, through the stars, wild and nauseating. John's head twitched, trying to shake the moss and muck from his brain. It didn't work, made his head hurt, and he winced.

" You okay, Shep?" K-something asked. Genuine concern. Hadn't seen that in a while. Sheppard nodded carefully, testing his vicious brain. K-something rose slowly, still cautious, and just as slowly approached Sheppard. Sheppard's heart thudded hard, and his own caution became the only presence in his vicious brain. He shrank back, tensing, readying, muscles coiling to pounce when the nasty kick to the ribs came. K-something slowed, bowing, reaching out his open hand to Sheppard. Sheppard looked at it, like it was a snake, then the hand that it really was, offering help. He looked at K, who was smiling – friendly smile. Also not seen for a while. _Pocket full of po-sies. Ashes, Ashes, we all fall DOWN! CRASH!_ Sheppard quelled. A song... about the plague? A plague? Smart man said so. He knew too much. Fall down, fall down hard. _Crash_! Sheppard shivered, trying not to vomit.

Sheppard also hesitated, debating, but the debate became lost to him, and his body begged through aches and stiffness to be free of the unrelenting ground that dug into his bones. Hand shaking, he took the offered limb, and untangled himself from the blanket as K-something aided his haul into standing.

Cool air, moist and smelling water-sweet, brushed the skin of his back through the thin shirt. He started shivering again, and couldn't stop. He felt a weight on his shoulders, and the cold ceased. He turned his head to see the blanket back on him. K-something patted both shoulders.

" Keep it on until the blood starts flowing. Can't have you freezing to death on me, not after we've come this far."

John clutched the blanket tighter around himself. K-something lifted the two bags from the ground, slinging the one with the strap across his back, and the other smaller bag over his shoulder. He smiled at John.

" Time to move," he said, and started off. John followed, not knowing why, just knowing he should.

Nothing to lose by it... so said the vicious brain.

SGA

 _And thus we reach the pinnacle of stupidity._ Rodney's jaw worked to grind his teeth down to the gums. Better than opening his mouth to spat the words shoving desperately from mind to mouth, screaming to be heard. Rodney shifted his back for a more tolerable position against the tree that didn't involve the assault of jagged bark to his spine. The young black clad soldier pacing before him tensed, switching – for the fifth time – his rifle from one shoulder to the other.

The kid's face was a poor mask of menace. He could sneer and look down at McKay with all the smug superiority capable of being mustered, but the effort being put into the facade was distracting him from the fact that he kept jumping at every slight sound. His three compatriots weren't faring so well either. As they milled about the dirt road, keeping casual watch for their CO, their gazes would slip to the four sitting lined along the road with backs to the forest. These kids had no idea what the hell they were doing.

Teyla had long ago given up on reasoning with them. The kids were too busy being spooked and pretending they weren't. The four youthful SOBs had gotten the drop on the team during the night as they camped, hustled them from the clearing where camp had been made to the road, and forced them to remain seated on twigs, rocks and who knew what else poking into the backside. Luckily, the night had been on the decline, so at least a few hours of sleep had been snatched.

 _Wow, I'm thinking on the plus side. Better quit while I'm ahead. Inner voices might begin to wonder. Inner demons won't let me live it down. Ha!_ Rodney didn't want to think positive. The disembodied voice of Sheppard was persistent on the positive, but McKay was still pissed at him – and pissed in general. Anger was easier to handle than the fear, so he milked it for all it was worth. Too bad Sheppard wasn't here. Laying the blame on him would have helped pass the time.

Rodney did find entertainment in glaring at the young soldier, which increased his annoyance when the young man's gaze went more to the feral Ronon than the irritated scientist. Once upon a time, Rodney once had a glare that had made him king of the universe... okay, king of the lab... but it had been effective at one time, even if it had been only to a select group of people.

Rodney shifted again in an attempt to dislodge the rock that was stabbing him in the tail-bone. This brought the kid's eyes to him, not to mention the business end of the rifle.

" Stop moving!" he growled, voice wavering, arms trembling. Oh yes, just weaned off of military school, this one. Rodney made his eyes go heavy-lidded, pushing back the breath-snatching pound of his heart.

" Listen junior. You dragged us out here, you forced us to sit here, not my fault if the location sucks. You took our weapons. What the hell do you think I'm going to accomplish by squirming around a little? The discovery of a well chewed toothpick to flick in your eye!"

The kid, trembling, blinked. " Just... don't move!"

McKay huffed a laugh through his nose. He loved screwing with the naïve minds of the locals, catch them off balance with one too many earth references. Served them right. He was sick of being held at gunpoint – held period.

" Whatever, kid. Just point that thing somewhere else."

Sheppard would have been proud of him... had he cared what Sheppard thought. _Which I don't. Bastard._

The kid seemed to be debating this command, and the effort appeared to hurt. He was thankfully distracted by the crunch of tires from the little vehicle that Rodney had no intentions of ever calling a car. It was occupied by two men, but on rolling to a stop only one exited. This one looked no older than the kid still aiming the rifle at Rodney.

The new kid approached his subordinate with a stiff back and hands clasped behind like a mini Hitler.

 _Time for a diaper change, you little Nazi snot! Why the hell can't we talk to some adults!_ Rodney's jaw shook, clamped tight enough to actually break his teeth for real. He was going to let Teyla handle this one, or Ronon. Hopefully Ronon. That usually involved necks being broken.

The newbie eyed the team with disinterest, then turned his focus to the subordinate.

" Situation?" he asked.

" We found these four out in the woods, sir. They 'claim' to have been guests of master Harl and were heading home."

Newbie turned back to the four, doing another once over that lasted two minutes. He said nothing, instead turning on his heels back to the cart. He picked up what looked to be an over-sized walkie-talkie, spoke, looked at the team, spoke again, listened, spoke again, then returned.

" I have been ordered to escort you back to Chief Judge Harl's. Two prisoners have escaped – dangerous prisoners – and Judge Harl fears for your safety."

The team exchanged looks, everyone suspicious. Teyla looked up at the young man, squinting. " But we are only hours from the gate. Would it not be safer if we returned to our own world? We also need to report back to our leader before she becomes concerned over our absence."

Newbie neither said nor expressed anything. Instead, he went back to the cart and the walkie-talkie. Talking ensued, then he returned again.

" It is better that you return with us. The prisoners may try to follow you through the gate."

Ronon tilted his head to one side like a inquisitive dog eying a massive slab of beef. " You have guards posted at the gate. And it's not like we don't know when we're being followed. We can handle two men, I don't care how dangerous you say they are."

Once again, Newbie was at a loss for words and proper facial reactions, except for a slight twitch at the corner of his eye. Ronon had the punk. Newbie went back to the cart and the radio. In that time, Rodney leaned in a little toward Teyla.

" Is it just me?" he whispered. " Or are they a little anxious for us to stick around?"

Teyla nodded. " Yes, they seem reluctant to let us leave. I do not like this."

" What's to like?" Rodney replied. " We were right. It wasn't a good idea to stick around. Too bad we weren't this aware sooner. Oh, wait, _I_ was. I _told_ you this was stupid. I told everyone this was stupid. We should never have come..."

Newbie returned, cutting off all conversation. " For matters of safety, you are to return with us. But I first must ask you... have you seen two men during your travels pass anywhere near you?"

" What do they look like?" Teyla asked.

" One is tall, bald. The other..." the kids mouth worked momentarily without sound. " Is... thin..."

Rodney straightened, arching his head back. " Thin? That's not a description, that's a generalization. We need a little more than that. Is he tall, short, young, old...?"

Again came the gaping fish mouth trying to gasp for words. " Um... that is all we really know of him..."

" Then no," Teyla interjected. " We have not seen any such men matching your descriptions"

" Are you sure?"

Rodney rolled his eyes, readied the nastiest retort he could, only to be beaten by Ronon.

" No, we just like having you ask a lot of pointless questions."

Rodney's sinuses had to be cleared with the laugh that snorted through his nose. At last, something about himself had finally rubbed off onto the big guy. Too bad Sheppard wasn't here to wallow in the irony.

But like Rodney cared what Sheppard thought.

" We are sure," Teyla said, giving Ronon the evil eye.

Newbie jerked his head in a nod. He turned to his subordinated. " Escort them back to Judge Harl's." The subordinate nodded, and newbie turned on his heels to practically goose-step back to the cart. The cart reversed, rolled forward in a U-turn, and crunched off trundling over the uneven path.

Rodney curled his lip in a sneer. " What, no ride? You people really need to learn the value of manners."

" Up!" the snot-nosed soldier barked. The team rose, and while struggling to their feet, Rodney glanced at his three companions. Ronon was smiling that wicked, wolfish smile of his.

Rodney rolled his eyes. " Oh son of a..." Little time to even complete the thought when Ronon started the chaos party. He charged forward to bowl into the nearest armed punk's back, lifting him enough to swing him around and use the kids feet to knock the second punk to the ground. The third Lorne jumped as the kid became distracted in his attempt to aim. The trigger happy little goon that been so keen on aiming at Rodney was dispatched by Teyla with a drop and swipe of her one leg to knock both the kid's legs out from under him. She then slugged him unconscious.

The overgrown boyscout wanna-bes dispatched, Ronon reclaimed the team's weapons and led the way into the woods just as the shout of the young CO was heard.

" Run!" Ronon called. They tore into the forest that seemed determined to disallow them the ability to stay together as a group. Skirting thick trees, shrubs, and trying to avoid moss-hidden logs, dips, and branches had them spreading out farther and farther. Teyla was concentrating on maneuvering toward Lorne, it looked like, and Ronon toward Rodney. Rodney followed suit, and though they were spread, at least they were still in sight of one another.

They ran until Rodney's lungs began to burn and his legs no longer required an obstacle to stumble over – they were faltering on their own just fine. He wasn't normally the one to set the pace, but today was a twisted kind of day, with Ronon letting rip the sarcasm and Rodney deciding the speed for their escape. The rest of the team had slowed as well, always keeping within sight. Soon running became a fast walk, with Ronon, Teyla, and Lorne craning their necks like hounds catching the scent.

" Now – how the – hell," Rodney panted, " are we – supposed – to get out of – here?"

" Dr. McKay's right," Lorne said. " Guards at the gate'll be notified, maybe even doubled.

" What was – that all about – with us coming – back – just because – of two convicts?" Rodney was starting to have second thoughts. He hated having second thoughts. " think we – should have gone back to - Harl's?"

Ronon, ducking his head to see beneath the lower hanging branches, turned to eye McKay ruefully. " Not really. Something else is going on, and I don't want to find out what it is."

" They had no right to deny us our return home," Teyla jumped in. " We were not far from the gate. They knew we needed to check in. Knew the danger if we did not. Ronon is correct. There is something wrong with this situation."

Rodney couldn't argue their points. He wanted to, since logically there might have been a simple explanation to all this. But Rodney wasn't too keen on giving way to logic anymore. Paranoia was dominant, and in truth he liked it that way. Besides, if trouble were going to happen, better it happen sooner than later, he supposed.

All in all, he had plenty to work with on a proper chew-out for Elizabeth. No was no, and yet so many thought it to have several different meanings.

They trudged on in silence, listening through the animals sounds for human sounds. Rodney took a swallow from his canteen, then pulled a chocolate power bar from his vest. He ripped away the wrapper and biting into it had never been so heavenly. Then again, biting into one was always heavenly. He never did understand why Sheppard only tolerated the things, never enjoyed.

But like he cared what Sheppard thought.

" Does anyone have a destination in mind?" Rodney asked between bites.

" Circle around," Ronon replied. " Watch the gate. Wait for the right moment to make a run for it."

Rodney paused on his next bite, and suddenly his appetite was gone. " Oh lovely. Why did I even asked?" He sighed heavily, stuffing the remains of the bar back into his pocket. " We are freakin' dead."

Ronon glanced at McKay, shooting him a smirk. " Isn't that what you said on the hive ship? About ten times?"

Rodney glowered. " Hey, it's bound to come true one of these days."

Ronon shook his head. " You really do need to think positive more."

" Shut up Sheppard!"

Silence fell fast and hard. Every head was turned his way, every expression blank, but Rodney didn't care.

" Slip of the tongue. Get over it all ready! And shut up Ronon!"

Ronon looked away.

Rodney had to admit the slip wasn't pleasant, but caring he had long since stomped into the dirt. Anger was easier. It was about time the others figured that out.

The day aged toward the afternoon with the sun overhead but unable to torment them with heat thanks to the thick foliage of the trees. Breezes cooled Rodney, but didn't stop the sweat from soaking into his clothes. Probably high time for a brake, but he didn't have the breath to announce it. He also didn't feel far away enough from those kids playing soldier. The punks might not have been anything to worry about, but Rodney would bet his laptop there were a few grizzled vets with tracking skills to rival Ronon's. Every world had them.

Shouts echoed madly through the forest. The team paused, lifting their heads, turning them to point their ears in every direction. A shot sounded, and Rodney flinched at the shower of bark stinging his face and hands.

" Get down!" Ronon roared. He doubled back, grabbing a bemused Rodney by the collar of his jacket and hauling him behind the thickest tree. He shoved Rodney down, then darted for the tree across the way. Teyla and Lorne already behind trees of their own. Shots were exchanged, with bullets ripping up the bark, sending it raining down in shards. Rodney peered around the tree enough to see three men coming at them. Only three. Ronon could have taken them on by himself. He had with a couple of wraith on that hive ship.

Ronon darted from one tree to the next, moving closer as Teyla and Lorne drew fire. Rodney drew out his nine-mil with no intention of shooting and accidentally hitting one of the team. It was a precaution, and a means to make himself feel a little more in control. He did another quick peek around the tree to see Ronon going hand to hand with one of the soldiers. This wouldn't last long.

" Hey, you."

Rodney jerked his head around. He didn't have time to register anything when something hard struck him fast in the face, snapping his head around and his body to the ground. His vision swam, swirled, with flecks of light sparking in his vision. He heard tromping footsteps and made out a blob of black in body-shape loom over him. Hands grasped his collar tight enough to choke. Rodney was hauled to his feet, which made the world tilt like a theme-park ride. He felt himself being lugged like a sack away from the safety of his tree, deeper into the woods. The sensible thing to do was to call out, except his throat was feeling uncomfortably restricted, so much so that he could barely take in air.

Finally, he was thrown to the ground.

" Don't move," came a snarl. Rodney didn't mean to lift his head. He was too dazed to listen to reason. He blinked rapidly to clear away the darkness and fuzz, only to widen his eyes on the black clad, not so young soldier standing four feet away with gun raised and steady.

The man cocked the gun. Either he was going to shoot, or simply loved scaring the hell out of his captives. By the wickedly gleeful smirk, Rodney was leaning toward the former. The man moved closer to Rodney, breathing hard.

" Who are you?" he demanded with a little too much zeal. Rodney gaped, muted against his will. The man moved closer, and when close enough gave Rodney a good kick in the face. Rodney's hands shot to his nose oozing heated liquid as he rolled onto his back. The man lowered the gun to place the barrel on Rodney's chest.

Rodney's heart was beating fast enough to pummel itself into hamburger. " Oh hell," he whimpered. He'd survived a wraith hive ship only to be shot by a sociopathic human. Death was determined to take him one way or the other, and in style it seemed. Unless Rodney died of a heart attack first.

" I said," smiley simpered, " who – are – you?"

Kind of like the caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland, minus the hooka and pretty smoke. What Rodney wouldn't give for a mushroom that made him ten times bigger.

Smiley put weight on the gun, pressing it into Rodney's sternum harder and harder until the ribs creaked and couldn't expand. Rodney gasped, then his eyes went even rounder.

A shape darkened by the little light spilling in shafts through the leaves rose up behind smiley. A careful, fluid movement of an arm, the flash of silver light off metal, then the gurgle of a throat when that metal slid across the exposed neck. Smiley hadn't heard or felt a thing. He lurched away and stumbled back, turning to face his killer. In an act of final defiance, he lifted his gun with one hand. The killer – tall, stick thin, head hidden by a hood – didn't seem to care much for the gun. He moved toward smiley, smiley stumbled back, trying to aim. Killer never gave him the chance when he attacked, lunging at him with bloody knife raised then coming down. The heavier man fell to the ground with skinny guy on top, stabbing over and over and over, thudding, bone cracking, blood flying, the still chest pulverized into ground-chuck pulp.

On the next lift of the arm, the knife didn't come down. It remained raised, dripping crimson drops that flew because the hand gripping the hilt was shaking. Rodney felt ready to puke. He would have too if his body hadn't frozen when the skinny man scrabbled away from his handy work – and turned his hidden gaze on Rodney. Rodney shrank, shaking hard.

" Oh 'rap," he moaned through a blood-stuffed nose. " Oh 'rap, oh 'rap, oh 'rap..."

Killer just stood there, holding the dripping knife to his chest with both hands like it was a security blanket. Rodney cautiously rolled onto his own chest, pulling up his hands beneath him to push himself to his knees. He pulled one leg from beneath him, planting his foot on the ground. He tensed in preparation to push off that ground in a turn to start running. Except killer still hadn't move.

And Rodney was finding something obnoxiously familiar about the man's filthy pants. And boots.

Rodney was quickly distracted by his salvation in the form of Ronon creeping up behind skinny - Teyla and Lorne taking up the rear to watch his back. Ronon put his finger to his lips, and pointed at the ragged man – who Rodney realized was trembling.

Ronon slipped his arm around the thin man's neck with the same liquid ease skinny had shown on slitting smiley's throat. It wouldn't take much for Ronon to snap that neck – to that Rodney had no doubts. But skinny proved quick – not bright – but quick. He dropped the knife, yet only to free his hands in order to grab Ronon's arm to try and pull it away. Since that was futile, he bit the arm instead.

Ronon grunted, gritted his teeth, and let the man bite with what Rodney knew was an obviously dirty mouth. Finally, Ronon had enough. He grabbed the hood, yanking it back and starting to twist it in order to tighten the collar around skinny's throat.

The face revealed, Rodney's heart stuffed itself into his mouth.

" What the freakin Ronon don't _hurt him!"_

Ronon snapped his arm away and lurched two steps back. Silence slapped itself on the world, and hell froze over when Ronon's face went slack with utter shock.

He was free, but he didn't move. John just stood there, staring at Rodney. Rodney stared back at him, and time stopped in that little niche of the world.

Rodney was the first to blink, and so the first to shatter silence's imposing presence.

What... the _freakin' hell!"_

SGA

A/N: Everyone sigh in relief. Well, not quite yet, still more action to be had. But at least the gangs all together, right? And dance for joy because I finally figured out what I want to happen at the end! Took long enough but something finally clicked together that should prove exciting. Thanks to everyone for suggestions and input, and special thanks to Drufan whose suggestion finally kicked the muses into gear.

Also, if you find odd mistakes like words melded together, that's not my doing. I've looked over this chapter several times and I swear wierd stuff happens when you transfer the document from point A to B.


	9. Price

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Once again, the reviews have made my day, after day, after day. I will try to respond to them, possibly not all, but please don't feel offended if I don't. My time on the net is limited since we have dial up which interferes with the phones, and are awaiting several important calls (though I'm reaching the point where I no longer care. It's taking too long.) And, no, we don't have cell phones.

A/N: Once again, the reviews have made my day, after day, after day. I will try to respond to them, possibly not all, but please don't feel offended if I don't. My time on the net is limited since we have dial up which interferes with the phones, and are awaiting several important calls (though I'm reaching the point where I no longer care. It's taking too long.) And, no, we don't have cell phones.

I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Rodney POV, which is always interesting.

  
**9**   


Rodney hated cosmic jokes as much as the next guy, and this one had his brain trying to implode in on itself. The astronomical probability, the billion to one chances, the simple cold logic were all ludicrous. Rodney had thought he'd witness impossibilities to make him believe in the impossible. Apparently, he still wasn't conditioned to it, because the impossible was knocking him upside the head over and over again, keeping his mind from forming coherent thought and explaining what he was seeing.

John. But John was supposed to be dead. Rodney had excepted that, after weeks and weeks of useless holding onto hope. But then Rodney had forgotten about the last minute twist of fate known as irony, always going for the ones who let their guard down, or finally give in to what they had _thought_ was the inevitable. Life was slick that way. Always go for the pessimistic, and life knocks it back in the face, reminding the pessimist why pessimism never really works out.

Mental rambling. Rodney was losing it. He couldn't handle this sudden turn. It wasn't right. It wasn't natural. Too wonderful, too strange, and nothing for Rodney to give name to.

He hated shock.

" Wha...?" his mouth refused to properly close, and his own intelligence left him stranded, uttering unintelligible nonsense. " Wha... Wha..."

Sheppard didn't move, not even blink, though his fingers and jaw twitched. He just stared, and stared, and stared with no expression and nothing in the eyes that registered what went on in that skull. It was like looking into the windshield of a running car with no driver behind the wheel.

The unwavering staring contest was making Rodney nervous, and in turn pissing him off. Good, anger, he could function on anger.

" What the hell are you doing here?" His voice was high-pitched and cracked, conveying nothing of the anger he wanted so much to be heard and spark a reaction out of the mute pilot.

Well, there was a reaction. A slight, microscopic shift in facial muscles, eyes going from completely blank to absolutely confused. Rodney's anger intensified.

 _What the hell is he doing?_ Rodney took a step closer to Sheppard, then another, and another.

" Hey, Colonel, I'm talking to you. What...?"

" Rodney," Teyla said, trying to admonish, but having no luck in keeping the waver out of her own voice. She approached John from behind and to the side with the deliberate movements of one trying not to spook the cornered lion.

When she was next to him, she reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder. He jerked back, turning, taking his stare from Rodney to pin it on Teyla. He just stared, and the confusion thickened, increasing his breathing. Teyla stepped back, giving him space.

" It is all right, Colonel... John." Teyla rarely, if ever, called him John. Rodney had never known why. And right now, he was just thankful John's stare had been averted elsewhere.

Teyla put her hand to her chest. " It is Teyla, John. Do you remember me?"

John blinked, thankfully, because Rodney was pretty sure his eyes were dried out by now. The skinny pilot lifted his hand to start rubbing the back of his neck, a familiar act to Rodney, but normally produced when John was in a crap-load of trouble and about to face Weir for it. It was different this time, more timid than awkward. His hand moved further up to rub the side of his head, from ear to crown, gripping his spiked hair when it came to the top, only to release and slide down. Over and over, his eyes squinting, mouth twitching. Rodney wasn't sure, but he believed he was witnessing an expression of pain.

No one spoke or moved. Any quieter and their collective heartbeats could have been heard were they beating in time. John pulled his hand away from his head with an effort that had his arm trembling. Slowly, carefully, uncertainly, he reached out toward Teyla. She stood still as a tree on a windless day, her face nothing but kind, her lips turned upward in a small smile. John's fingers touched her copper hair at her shoulders, a look of shy fascination replaced the confusion. For a moment, almost a nano-second, Rodney thought John was going to smile. His mouth twitched toward one, almost, but not quite. Confusion was trying to muscle back in, and the struggle seemed to hurt him.

Teyla reached up and took John's hand in both of hers, clasping it tight without causing discomfort.

John had yet to say anything, and that was scaring the hell out of Rodney. The pilot narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, recalling something, or thinking something that he found interesting. Widening his eyes with an epiphany kind of realization, he gradually bent forward, lowering his head to touch his forehead with Teyla's, who met him the rest of the way. This time, the smile struggled harder, and Rodney nearly saw it form.

Rodney rolled his eyes. This was taking too long. They needed to get out of this place, and John needed to snap from his fugue. Plus he had a question to answer, a thousand questions, but the main one being the one Rodney had already asked.

Rodney's anger climbed another notch. Gritting his teeth, he surged forward and grabbed Sheppard's arm with the intent of turning him. Instead, he acted just in time to catch John when he doubled over to heave until a thin stream of amber liquid spewed from his throat in a gurgling choke. Teyla leaped back in alarm. Shocked, disgusted, and lacking anything to say because of it, Rodney wrapped his arms around the Colonel's chest when the shuddering body went limp, sinking to the knees as he continued to heave and choke.

This was wrong, all wrong. Rodney had planned it out from the day he'd heard Sheppard had gone missing in an attempt to save Rodney and Ronon. Fly boy heroics leading to self-sacrificing never did sit well with Rodney. He'd always pictured it – didn't matter where or when – Sheppard appearing to them like he had now, stepping out of the woods, a building, or through the gate. Dirty, tired, a little worse for wear, smiling in relief. But the smile would be tainted with his usual lop-sided cocky smirk that just begged to be wiped from the face. And Rodney would have done just that. Knocked that grin right off the fly-boy. Sheppard would be insulted, McKay would chew him out concerning kamikaze stupidity, they would talk, make up, and everything would go back to the way it had been. Peachy freakin' keen, hunky-dory and all's well that ends well.

Too many twists of fate, and this one was twisting all the way down to Rodney's stomach. The feel of Sheppard's ribs digging into Rodney's arms – sharpest when the pilot gulped in air for another heave – sent bile shooting into Rodney's throat. Rodney was looking down at the Colonel's back, fixated on the gaping holes and tears of the shirt, and beyond that to the bloody-red scabs of slash-marks and the bruises numerous enough to form one single bruise from the base of Sheppard's neck to the small of his spine. There were broken bones, had to be with that many bruises and marks, and suddenly Rodney's hold on Sheppard seemed a dangerous act.

But he couldn't let go, or John would fall. And he sure as hell couldn't deck the man. He would shatter like glass, splinter and fragment, go down and never come up, life wiped rather than a smile. Ideal situations tended to always come out a bust. Now all Rodney could think about was whether he was hurting John trying to keep him off the ground, and how he could hold him up without doing so.

John, however, remained on his knees just fine, allowing a little slack to Rodney's hold. The heaving stopped, replaced by panting and shuddering that could have shaken John's body to pieces. Rodney grimaced on becoming aware of the furious pulsing of John's heart beating through fragile bones to tap Rodney's wrist. Reminder of life. Sheppard was alive, unarguably alive, tangible proof thudding against Rodney's arm. The shock was eternal, and the only reason Rodney still held on to John was because his brain seemed unable to communicate with his own body.

Then Teyla was kneeling beside them, witnessed out of the corner of Rodney's eye. She placed her hand on John's mutilated back, between the shoulder blades, and shared in the tangibility. It was a light touch, had to be since Sheppard only winced rather than cried out in pain. Ronon and Lorne approached to stand behind Teyla, watching, waiting, alarmed to the point that they didn't even try to hide it.

No one said anything, Sheppard especially. Teyla moved her hand from his back to his head and began stroking his hair.

" Colonel Sheppard."

Rodney saw, like a man witnessing someone else's dream, Teyla's eyes shimmer, then pool until the water flooded and tears traced wet lines down her face. Her lips faltered on trying to form a smile.

" Colonel Sheppard. It is me, Teyla. And Dr, McKay, Ronon, Major Lorne. It is your friends." Her need to laugh with joy succumbed to the sorrow of knowing that something was horribly wrong.

Numbly, Rodney slid his arms from Sheppard's chest and back, just enough to lean sideways while maintaining a hold in case Sheppard decided to go the rest of the way down.

It seemed the driver was out of the car again. Sheppard's eyes were empty, blank, so turned inward he didn't know how to come back out, and heavy lidded with exhaustion. Teyla kept up her stroking, and furiously wiped away her tears with her other hand. " Colonel Sheppard, please... say something. Are you ill? Injured?"

An inner voice wanted to snap out the sarcastic reply concerning vomiting being a good indication of illness. Shock kept Rodney's mouth shut, allowing logic it's due when it had him realize that Teyla was just trying to get Sheppard to respond. Bruises, cuts, and an emaciated body were shockers in themselves, but it was the Colonel's silence that produced shared feelings of fear.

John's panting came faster and faster. His eye twitched, then his head lowered as he brought up his arms to wrap over his skull. He started rocking back and forth with a periodic moan, still panting, as though at any moment the heaves would start up again. Teyla looked up at Rodney, then Ronon, then Lorne. Never since Rodney had met Teyla had he seen such a look of panicked uncertainty in her eyes, and it made Rodney wonder if she had had her own ideal situation concerning Sheppard's return, now smashed to dusty dreams.

She returned her focus to Sheppard, placing both her hands on his bony shoulders. " Colonel, please. Tell us what is wrong. Speak to us."

" A little premature for that."

Rodney jumped, and every team-member's head snapped to the right.

The tall, bald stranger in the ragged tan coat carrying two sacks over his shoulder lifted his hand in a casual gesture of pointing at John. " Talking's been kind of trial for him. His brains a little too busy attempting to right itself to put effort into forming words."

Lorne and Ronon lifted their guns to point at the stranger. The guy didn't even bat an eye at the potential death aimed his way. " You may want to try giving him a moment. His stomach still ain't happy about what his head's up to."

Teyla narrowed her eyes dangerously, and one arm slide across both of John's shoulders in a protective embrace. " Who are you? What do you want?"

The man shifted focus to the Athosian, and smiled. " No need for hostilities, friend Teyla. We have a mutual acquaintance in Shep there. You can call me Kace."

Rodney and Teyla exchanged looks. Maybe the man knew Sheppard, or maybe he walked in on them the moment Teyla was spouting out all their names for John to recall. Didn't matter since they both knew better than to jump to conclusions.

" Not at all, Doc. McKay. Just got here myself. Shep took off running when he heard the fire fight and," he lifted his shoulders weighted by the sacks, " I was kind of slowed in the pursuit. I'd have you ask Sheppard, but he's rather unreliable in the vouching department, as you can see. He needs water... Then we need to move before the thug squad returns."

McKay's jaw fell gradually open. The absurdity of the day had finally reached the point where rather than accepting it, McKay refused to put up with it, and let it restoke his anger. " Who the hell are you...?"

" To tell you what to do? No one in particular, just thought you wanted to get out of here is all, not get dragged back to our mutual enemy... I mean his quickness chief Judge Harl. Listen, I've been dragging your friend along, keeping an eye out for you people so I can return him to you. Now, I have, job well done, and right now I would like nothing more than to skip off this rock before the thugs track us down and my five day sentence becomes five years. And seeing as how we both have a goal to make it to the ring, it seems only reasonable that we go along together. I know how to get to it – bypassing the guards – which seems to be your dilemma. I can help you if you don't have too much concern about helping me out in return. Nothing big, just let me come through to where you're going, so I can safely get through to where I really wish to go. I don't think that's too much trouble, especially since I did your little friend the favor of saving his hide."

Rodney and Teyla did another eye exchange. Something was odd, but McKay's already frazzled brain was being sluggish about figuring it out. Ronon and Lorne just looked ready to kill. Rodney looked back at Kace, mouth open, words forming...

Kace rolled his eyes. " I read minds, Mr. McKay. Or doctor or whatever you call yourself. Don't waste my time with stupid questions. We need to get out of here. Shep needs to rest. His homicidal reaction that saved your life took a lot out of him. He's got infections building up, exhaustion settling in, and won't be able to stand on his own two feet much longer. So if I were you, I'd get your Satedan friend to help stand him up and get him moving. I can take you to where it's safe, then we can talk. Hey Shep, you good?"

Sheppard raised his head to turn it on his unsteady neck. He looked at Kace, then gave him a tired nod.

Rodney was struck speechless, which shocked even him. Sheppard's sudden appearance, a mind reader, and both in cahoots. Rodney was waiting for the moment when he finally woke up to resume his life of being constantly pissed. Anger was so much easier to deal with, and right now he missed it.

Sheppard's weak nod of affirmation seemed to seal the situation with the rest of the team. Teyla rose moving one hand to grip John's bicep. Ronon stowed his weapon to take John's other arm, and together they pulled him to his feet. The pilot swayed on trembling legs. Ronon moved in closer, allowing John to brace against him until the rebelling legs finally locked themselves into place. Even then Ronon kept his hand on Sheppard's upper arm. Teyla held out her canteen to John, and he took it without actually acknowledging it, like an automated reaction, taking small sips then handing it back. He didn't even wipe his mouth.

Kace sauntered past the group to take the lead. " We're good for now but I got presences moving our way. Best start heading off," he said without stopping. Irritation at the commands of a stranger demanded that McKay retort. Lingering shock trumped that order, and McKay kept his mouth shut. He was still waiting to wake up, and until then went along with it, taking up a stance on Sheppard's other side. He didn't know why. Truthfully he had expected himself to keep as far away from Sheppard as possible until his mind could fully absorb the situation. Instead, all he could think about was keeping Sheppard from falling face-first into the dirt. As they started moving to follow Kace, Rodney looked over at the Colonel, and his gaze became fixed. John lurched into motion, stumbling, and would have fallen if Ronon hadn't had a hold on him.

It wasn't Sheppard; the frailty, the confusion, the flickering hints of fear. Only the hair sticking up in all directions was as it was supposed to be. Everything else was just a shell, a wasted, sickly, shell. A massive part of Rodney couldn't accept this walking corpse as John. Not that he tried to rationalize it was someone else with a remarkable similarity in looks to John. It was John's body, just not John, so despite what Rodney thought he should have felt – joy mixed with anger, happiness for his friend's return, and fury that he'd gone missing in the first place – all Rodney could feel was utter and inexplicable doubt.

John being here in body didn't mean he was back – so said the obnoxious little voice of pessimism in Rodney's head.

But uncertainty wasn't the defining factor in Rodney's action. Yes, he watched John in search of the Sheppard they all knew. Waited for the actions – or more appropriately reactions – common only to Sheppard, though most of those reactions tended to be verbal and directed toward a more talkative McKay. McKay's proximity was more a subconscious need to be near enough to watch Sheppard on another level – an almost protective level, one shared by the rest of the team now positioned with Teyla at the front and Lorne behind, surrounding John – because bruises and gashes didn't create themselves.

SGA

The air was cool within the woods, and it wasn't even evening yet – not quite at any rate. Still enough indigo light to see by. The group stopped in a small clearing surrounded by thick-trunked trees with maple shaped leaves and wild shrubs. Kace deemed it safe enough for a fire if kept small and put out before going to sleep.

" We're far enough away now," he explained as he gathered rocks to form a ring. Ronon and Lorne gathered wood, searching only within sight and hearing of the clearing. Trust wasn't quick coming, even after Sheppard had acknowledged this Kace fellow. Yet Kace didn't seem to mind.

" No presences sensed, which means we're a good couple of miles from anyone sentient. The gate isn't too far but you'll want to approach it around evening. Even escaped prisoners won't have the guards picking up the slack. The changing of the guard is when you need to move, and I've got that schedule down tight."

Ronon and Lorne dumped the wood by the rock ring. Kace took the smaller branches and tossed them inside. He then lit the wood with a small, thumb-sized device similar to Teyla's mini-laser. The wood popped, sparked, and Kace blew on the embers to ignite them into writhing snakes of flame.

Despite Sheppard's seeming compliance at being lent support, once stopped for the night, he had moved away from the team to sit huddled with his back against a tree, knees to his chest and arms tucked behind them. He sat to the team's right, and even with a blanket about his shoulders kept on shivering. Kace squatted on the left and began rummaging through the smaller sack until he removed a crust of bread and strips of meat wrapped in cloth. He held the meat up.

" Hungry? Unless you've got your own food, then I suggest you eat that. I need what I got, no offense."

Rodney eyed the strips – reminiscent of beef jerky – but interplanetary food had him cautious. One never knew when citrus might be involved in production of the stuff.

" None taken," he murmured, and started digging through the pockets of his vest for a power bar. He always had one hidden on his person. Problem was, he tended to forget where he hid them. " We're fine."

Kace smirked. " Good. But I ain't a cruel man who's disinclined to share. Shep would tell you if he could." He rose, and went over to Sheppard to hand him the crust of bread, which Sheppard timidly took. Rodney paused in his search and lifted his brow in surprise.

Kace caught the reaction. On straightening from his crouch, he looked over at McKay and smiled. " Bit of a habit feeding him. Besides, bread's the only thing he seems able to keep down so far."

" What is... wrong with him?" Teyla asked, and sounded loathed to ask it. Her eyes were fixed on Sheppard and had yet to so much as stray an inch to anything else.

Kace dusted his hands and moved back over to his spot. " What's wrong? Or what happened to him?" He eased himself to the ground with a grunt, crossing his legs Indian style. He grabbed the cloth and pulled out a strip of meat to gnaw on. " What's wrong with him is easy." Kace leaned sideways and tapped the side of his skull. " He ain't quite right in the head."

Rodney, coming up with squat in his search for a power bar, snorted. " Gee, really? Couldn't tell."

Kace chuckled in response. " You've got a quick mouth and a sharp tongue, Doc. McKay. I like that, but on some worlds that'll get you killed."

" So I've notice," Rodney mumbled. " Could you be more specific about the 'not quite right in the head' part?"

" I was getting to that. Our mutual enemy had an interest in your Shep and his ability to make all the pretty little shinies light up. But it seems your Shep wasn't too up to cooperating. He'd make 'em light, just wouldn't make 'em dance. This, in turn, got on his chief judgeship's nerves. Needless to say he wanted results, and did everything nasty he could to get them. The nastiest being this small," he illustrated the size with palms facing each other about a hand span apart, " hand-held contraption that when placed to the side of the head will scramble the brain. Hence – brain scrambler."

McKay halted in his search all together to balk, appetite suddenly decreased. " They fried his brain?"

" Precisely. No worries though. It's not permanent. At least... I don't think it is. Can't be sure. The device is known to have a lot of side-affects, and Harl didn't skimp on the thing when using it against Sheppard. It's left him – how do I describe it? – not so much forgetful... Okay! Think of it this way. It's like that device put one of those twisty winds into his head..."

" A tornado?" McKay asked.

" Yeah, probably. Anyways, this twisty wind – tornado – is pretty much ripping up his head, scattering his thoughts, keeping him from being able to focus on one single image or remembrance. Just around and around it goes – except when he dreams. Seems it can't touch the subconscious. His mind's always calm when he's asleep. But I can't read dreams, too fast. Without the daily ministrations of the device, his mind should start to settle. But since you know about those winds, you know how whatever they pick up comes back down just as messy. It's going to take time for his brain to ground. You're lucky he didn't go into a seizure when he saw you. I was quite impressed. But the vomiting – that's kind of a new one. Not a surprise, just new. Without Harl and his thugs to give him medicines, the infections have been creeping in."

Teyla went rigid and managed to rip her unwavering vigil from Sheppard to stare wide-eyed at Kace. " He is falling ill?"

Kace looked down at the meat scrap being twisted by his fingers; a somber action for a sudden melancholy mood. " He's been ill for some time now, friend Teyla. He's just at the end of the bridge now."

McKay leaned forward. His beloved anger had returned, this time with a more precise focus that would ensure it stuck around. " How the hell did this Harl guy find Sheppard anyways?"

Kace shrugged. " That's the part I can't tell you. I tried a deeper scan to get Sheppard's story, but that didn't go too well. All I know of is hive ships and a crash landing. The rest is tumbling around that jumble of a consciousness of his." Kace gestured at Sheppard by tossing up his hand and letting it drop into his lap.

Rodney looked over at the skinny pilot taking small bites of the bread as he stared transfixed into the fire. The flames seemed to fascinate him, even comfort him, because there came no flickers of fear. The Colonel's eye twitched, then his head, and he still hadn't stopped shivering.

" He has not spoken at all?" Teyla asked.

" Off and on he might say something. For the most part, all I ever heard were screams."

They fell quiet, and silence would have been absolute if not for the snap and pop of the fire. Rodney looked away from Sheppard to assess the team at a glance. Teyla was sad, Lorne was scowling, and Ronon had on his 'want to rip heads from shoulders' game face. If Harl and his cronies were to show up right this very minute... no deliberations - they'd be dead before they spoke.

" They tortured him," Ronon said, a statement of fact, not a question.

Kace nodded solemnly. " Beat him, starved him... they're all about the brute force tactics. But your Shep... He's an odd one. Didn't matter how many times they scrambled his mind or what bones they broke, he never gave in. Never once buckled down. It's what got me liking the guy. You don't meet too many folks like that, and it's a waste to have 'em keel over for something like getting a stupid little toy to blink and buzz."

McKay resumed his search and looked back at Sheppard, who'd stopped eating the bread to just stare into the fire. Rodney narrowed his eyes.

" He's got this... dive face first into danger streak," McKay explained. " Where we come from, we call it kamikaze. Also known as idiocy. He'd die before he gave into anything he deemed 'unworthy' to give into."

" He almost did."

Rodney looked at Kace. The telepath was staring at him penetratingly hard. Rodney tried to glare back but his body still insisted on squirming. " Oh don't you even go into my head..."

He stopped when he heard a soft crunch, and turned back to where Sheppard had been sitting. But he wasn't sitting, he was standing right next to Rodney, holding out the large half of his bread."

" Huh," Kace said, sounding surprised. " Seems to be worried... about _you_ Doc."

McKay looked up at Sheppard, into his concerned face. Typical Sheppard, and Rodney would have scowled, except that he wasn't angry. He was stunned, yes, but more than that he felt excitement tighten his chest. Typical Sheppard, very typical, always looking out for the other guy.

McKay took the bread. " Uh... thanks."

Sheppard attempted a smile, but lost it, and the spark of recognition. His eyes went glassy, his face twitched, and he turned to go back to his spot.

" Oh no...!" Kace hissed, tearing the dirt as he scrambled to his feet.

Sheppard didn't go very far when he dropped his bread to move both hands to his head. He fell to his knees, moaned in pain, toppled to his side, rolled to his back that arched, and began to convulsively thrash. Kace dropped to his knees beside Sheppard to lie across the thin man's chest. " A little help here!"

Ronon and Lorne were on their feet and rushing over.

" Keep his back down!" Kace cried. Lorne pinned Sheppard's shoulders, and both Ronon and Kace put their weight on his chest to prevent his back from arching to the point of snapping. Rodney gaped, paling, certain they were going to crush the frail body, break what wasn't already broken and worsen what was. But the seizure lasted only a minute when the body went limp and still except for the heaving chest. Ronon and Kace were off him quick, and Kace draped the discarded blanket over Sheppard.

" Wha... What was that?" Rodney stammered. Kace looked over at him, weary and subdued.

" The price of remembering."

SGA

A/N: So much for the fluff moment. Oh well.


	10. Race

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Your reviews make me smile big time. There's massive satisfaction (not to mention relief) knowing each and every chapter is being enjoyed. You make the muses sing, then go to all you can eat buffets where they plot and scheme, which in turn provokes them into giving me ideas for future stories. Blast those all you can eat buffets! And blast me thinking about them when I'm hungry!

A/N: Your reviews make me smile big time. There's massive satisfaction (not to mention relief) knowing each and every chapter is being enjoyed. You make the muses sing, then go to all you can eat buffets where they plot and scheme, which in turn provokes them into giving me ideas for future stories. Blast those all you can eat buffets! And blast me thinking about them when I'm hungry!

  
**10**   


John couldn't stop shaking, and it was making the rails of the bed rattle.

" Can't you do something about it, doc?"

Beckett seemed more preoccupied with taking Sheppard's pulse via the wrist than listening. " Not as of yet, lad, sorry." He released John's wrist, and John wrapped his arms around his chest in a self-hug to preserve warmth. Cool infirmaries topped the list of reasons why scrubs were so despised. Today was particularly arctic, and it made John wonder what hard-to-pronounce chemical Carson was trying to preserve.

" You starting to rent this place out as a meat locker, doc?"

Beckett flashed a short-lived grin. John rubbed his hands up and down his arms, but didn't feel the effects.

" But... Seriously, doc, I'm not talking about the cold. My head's killing me. Why the hell is it killing me? Can't you fix it?"

Carson, perusing his chart, looked up. His face was like a picture book – open in its honesty and sympathy. " I don't know John. I don't know anything yet."

John's shivering was now more than simply him being cold. His heart felt like it was cowering against his ribs, pressing into them, trying to squeeze through and away from the growing knot of dread in his chest. " Doc, it hurts... it hurts so much..." he was pleading, not listing symptoms. " I – I can't..."

Anger flashed cold in Carson's eyes, and it made John's heart lurch.

" Don't," Carson stated like a Drill Sargent's command. " You can, lad. Of course you can. You've been through worse. I've saved ya through worse. You will _not_ die, and by heaven you will _not_ give up. Since when do you give in? When have you ever given in?" Carson's eyes softened back to sympathy. " You'll be all right lad. You're almost there."

John stilled. " Where?"

" Where do ya think? You've always had a goal, John. It's always been about that goal."

John nodded numbly. " The reason. But... What was... the reason again?"

Carson gave John a sad smile. " You already know. You're almost there."

John thought. Faces without names. But they had names.

John cleared his throat. " Home."

SGA

John peeled his eyelids apart, and from his angle on the ground, curled on an unrelenting surface that seemed to crush his bones, he saw the faces. Faces without names. But they had names. Or did. Or should. No, they have names. John liked the faces. They made him feel... feel... something good, like safety, like warmth. and though their presence made his head throb and swim, he couldn't stop staring at them. He wanted to remember, but even if he couldn't – no big deal. As long as the faces remained, he didn't care. He liked the way they made him feel, the flitting images that sometimes darted to and from his mind. Nothing bad there. Good things, all good.

Home. Home? Something about home, except he couldn't quite recall home. Shiny place, he thought. These people, these faces, emphasized home. Knew home. Were home?

Home...

John's eyes slid closed, but not before he coughed.

SGA

Kace was a conditioned man, and missing one night of sleep had about as much affect on him as a drop of water had on moistening the entire world. He took full watch while Sheppard's four friends interchanged watch. To watch Kace, of course. Trust wasn't going to be won overnight, but Kace didn't care. He had an aunt who used to say that the greatest gift and bane of a telepath was a constant understanding for everyone's plight, faults, and purposes. These people had trust issues with good reason, so no reason what so ever for Kace to take offense. Simple laws of the wild applied here – you leave them alone, they leave you alone. Since he wasn't a threat, wouldn't become a threat, trust would manifest eventually. And even if it didn't, as long as they let him go on his pleasant way after this fiasco, it was no never-mind to him.

Besides, Sheppard trusted him. It may not have seemed like much considering the man's state, but it had been a trust that had to be earned, which meant something – don't take it for granted. Kace had rarely known absolute trust, and found it rather flattering.

Reclined against a tree with legs stretched out toward the dead fire, one ankle crossed over the other, Kace studied the four plus Sheppard. They called the man Colonel sometimes, John at other times. A basic scan showed him a complete name of military rank significance; Lt. Colonel John Sheppard. Delving deeper, Kace found what his curiosity had been pushing for, namely the man's story. He was a leader, team leader, military leader, protector of a whole city. That alone pulled Kace even deeper into the minds of these team mates. He saw Sheppard through their eyes, their opinions. He was liked, trusted, respected... loved, like a friend and a brother.

The Athosian woman – Kace knew of the Athosians, but only the name from snatches of conversation. She held no pretenses, hid very little if anything at all. She knew hardship, and was a well grounded individual because of it, taking in joy where she could, sorrow when she had to, and always cherishing friendship. Her joy over Sheppard's return stayed strong, but hand in hand with it was a painful sorrow for what had happened to him, and what it had done to him.

The man like Sheppard, the one who called him sir – Lorne - a lesser ranking man under Sheppard's authority, was more reserved in his emotional reactions. He tempered them, but couldn't hide them. He was shocked, surprised, but he was relieved. He harbored a mountain of respect for Sheppard, and was anxious to get him home where he belonged.

The Satedan - Kace knew a Satedan when he saw one, and not through mind scanning. He'd met one once, a survivor, had listened to his story, seen the mental images of the destruction of that world, and had carried that man's story with him since. Too bad that man was dead. This one might have liked to have met him. This one still longed for remnants of home, listened without seeming to to rumors and small talk concerning anything of his world. He would jump on those rumors should they come, but never at the expense that would cost him one of this team. He had nearly died getting himself and the scientist off of a hive ship. At this moment, the Satedan was the one awake, so Kace could not let his gaze linger on him for long, because the man had a glare that could crack rock. Kace didn't have to probe deep. Only one emotion vibrated from the man hot as magma, and that was anger. Whatever his outward attitude toward Sheppard on any given 'normal' day, he held the man in regard as a brother. Sheppard's suffering stoked the rage enough that had it been a real heat, it would have melted the skin off Kace's bones.

Kace grinned as he pictured this man being let loose into Harl's home. Kace wasn't a violent man, but the destruction would have been a sight to remember.

The scientist, the one called McKay, now there was a mind that sucked Kace in. He was a funny little man. Brilliant, and because of it, arrogant. He wore intelligence and the superiority it sometimes gave him like armor. But armor had its flaws, chinks, and his had many. He tried to be a man of cold realism, of hard facts, dooms-day logic, and pure pessimism (though the latter he seemed more than willing to forgo, just didn't know how to). He thought himself comfortable in the fact that no one ever understood him. Problem was, he was thinking along the lines of understanding in terms of science and knowledge. Him as a person – flawed and faulty, callous sometimes but generally good in the long run – he didn't even consider. Most people saw him only on the surface, only a few looked beneath it. His team mates, for one. Kace knew this from their own minds. McKay might annoy them, but they still called him friend. Sheppard for another, and was the best at it. Had to be, because McKay was aware of it, and whether he liked it or not, Sheppard was the only person he acknowledged as his friend.

It was a friendship he pretended to fight. Why? Long story there. Friends were rare as rain in the desert for this little scientist. When they came, half the time they were lost since McKay wasn't too fond of getting attached to anything in the fear of losing it. Sheppard hadn't let that happen, and pushed his friendship on Rodney whether he liked it or not. McKay's biggest secret – he did like that friendship. He mocked Sheppard, and Sheppard mocked back. He spat sarcasm and Sheppard shielded with clever teasing. McKay threw everything he had at the Colonel, and the Colonel still referred to him as 'pal'. McKay could say 'I hate you' until the universe imploded, and Sheppard would still give the title of best friend to McKay. McKay couldn't help but like it, he just wouldn't ever admit it out loud, not if he could help it.

Kind of an odd friendship in Kace's point of view, which was why it must be working out so well.

McKay's reaction to all of this was something Kace had to pick through. There was confusion, uncertainty, anger. The scientist was having a hard time grasping his friend's sudden reemergence into the land of the living. Kace had picked up remnants of anger toward Sheppard – one, for having 'supposedly' died trying to take on the hive ships, and two for miraculously showing up on what McKay considered to be a random time on a random world. McKay seemed to like anger, and Kace knew why. Sorrow hurt, and no one liked to hurt. Except that McKay was sorrowing, he just wouldn't let himself realize it, or feel it. So he urged anger on to keep out the hurt. It was honed, though, on Sheppard's tormentors. Very honed. He probably would have aided the Satedan in tearing Harl's head off by holding him down.

This team, these four people, they were good people, and Kace wondered if Sheppard realized what he had. He must have, since memories revealed a man willing to die for them. So willing that here he was, wasted and fragmented, touching death's shadow, and eventually death if they didn't get him home in time. Kace looked at Sheppard wrapped like a sack in the blanket, curled and listless as he slept. The seizure had drained the man. He'd overdone it trying to grasp the memories the faces sent crashing through his brain. The attempt had his brain short-circuiting into overload, taking his body down with it, in his desperation to recall. But there was no fear. There was contentment, an actual wave of peace that made Kace smile.

He'd been right about the man. He'd been worth saving.

SGA

Teyla glanced back over her shoulder at John when he started up another round of lung expelling coughs. He was leaning all his weight against Ronon, which in all truth wasn't much weight to bare for the bigger man. Ronon kept his hand on John's arm to hold him up as they trudged through the woods with its spongy carpet of moss hidden obstacles. Kace led the way, with Lorne taking up the rear. It would take the majority of the day to reach the ring, Kace had told them, and didn't seem happy about it, especially when he looked at Sheppard.

Their way was meandering, skirting these 'presences' Kace talked of, which she assumed to be the soldiers hunting them. The further they went, the more labored the Colonel's breathing became, and the amount of coughing increased.

John coughed again, gasping in wheezing breaths. Teyla stepped up her pace to catch up with Kace.

" Why is he like this today?" she asked. " He was not this poorly off yesterday."

Kace looked at her solemnly. " That last seizure knocked him wide and his body isn't too happy about it. It's weakened him, helped the infection turn into sickness." Kace then furrowed his brow. " You've got some kind of gift, right? Not strong but... something. Didn't look into it too deep seeing as how it was none of my business. Got any wide range sensory ability?"

" Only if wraith are present."

Kace's brow smooth. " Ah, that's right, Athosian. I heard someone say something about that little gift. Damn. Would have been nice to have another brain help keep watch. It gets a little tiring after a time, stretching my awareness..."

They heard someone's footsteps falter, and slowed, glancing back to see Ronon pulling Sheppard back to his feet. Teyla immediately turned to go help, only to have Rodney beat her to it.

" I got him," he said. He took Sheppard's arm to drape around his shoulder, Ronon following suit, both men taking all of John's meager weight so he barely had to walk at all.

" You've got quite a team there, friend Teyla," Kace said. Teyla smiled, looking back to Kace.

" I know."

The day aged, and breaks were far and few between. When the next moment for rest came, Ronon and Rodney gently set John to the ground, lying prone on a bed of moist, soft leaves and moss. They drank water, had a brief lunch, then readied to set off.

Rodney and Ronon took Sheppard's arms to lift him onto legs that wouldn't support him. The Colonel was limp as a rag, eyes barely open, breath rattling to and from his lungs. Gently, as though Sheppard were made of glass, Ronon gathered the emaciated body into his arms. Teyla adjusted John's head to rest against the runner's broad shoulder rather than let it hang limp from the neck, and lifted the ragged hood to cover Sheppard's eyes from the daylight.

" You know Sheppard hates it when you do that," Rodney said.

" Doubt he'll even know it happened," Ronon rumbled in reply.

They set off again, the day fading, going from golden noon to graying twilight. Ronon grunted. " He's shaking, bad."

Teyla fell back to walk along side the Satedan and placed her hand on John's forehead hidden under the hood. It was burning hot to the touch.

" We're almost there," Kace announced. " So don't worry. Well, worry a little. The hard parts just beginning. And whatever you do, don't talk."

The increasing darkness of the forest became their cover as they approached the clearing where the gate rose up; solitary perfection in the mis-matched wild. They stopped within the tree line and crouched behind a mess of shrubs, parting the branches to see through to the gate. The guards were shadow figures – five in all – milling about while talking in soft murmurs.

" So when's this change of guard supposed to happen?" McKay whispered.

" Probably already has," Kace whispered back. " In which case, it'll be two hours before the next. If not, then we need to move fast. Three guards will go, leaving two behind until the next five arrive." Even in the darkness, Teyla was able to discern Kace's face twisting in concentration. " Wait... All right, we got here just in time. Five minutes, then the change. The short one won't stop thinking about it. Seems he's got a girl waiting for him or something. After the three leave, we need to wait two minutes, then attack. Get some good distance between us and the thug squad. We'll only have five to six minutes total before the replacements arrive."

Ronon carefully set John on the ground. He pulled his weapon from off his shoulder to hand it to Rodney. Rodney eyed the weapon, then Ronon, then back to the weapon.

" W-what...?"

" Take it. I won't be able to use it. It's already on stun, so don't worry about killing anyone. Just worry if you accidentally stun one of us."

Rodney kept eying both like he was being offered a jar full of diseases. " B-b-but..."

" McKay," Ronon growled, and Teyla could sense his glare more than see it. Rodney grabbed the gun, holding it out as though it might try to turn on him. Ronon regathered John, adjusting him so his head ended up back on Ronon's shoulder.

Kace turned to face them all, grinning with teeth flashing through the darkness. " Time to play."

SGA

Ronon didn't like this arrangement. Not being unarmed. That was only a minor annoyance in the long run, and Ronon knew how to use his hands for a quick kill. But those hands were occupied carrying Sheppard, which wasn't a big deal in itself, except that anyone who took a shot at Ronon would more than likely end up hitting Sheppard. Then there was Rodney, armed with a weapon he had no idea how to use. It was like that time Sheppard had put a sign on McKay's back that read 'kick me', only now it was a gun screaming 'shoot him!'

If a firefight ensued, Ronon would be hard pressed on protecting both men. He would have considered getting that Kace guy to carry Sheppard – he looked strong enough to – but Ronon didn't trust him enough for that. Truthfully, Ronon didn't trust anyone else to do it. Kace for already mentioned reasons, and everyone else because they wouldn't last long, even with Sheppard barely weighing anything.

They were going to have to run.

Kace, Teyla, and Lorne darted out first, with Lorne and Teyla firing into the air and shouting for the two remaining guards to drop their weapons, then to drop to the ground. The two young soldiers were quick to comply, tossing their guns and kneeling to the ground. Kace shoved them the rest of the way, binding their hands behind them and their feet together with bits of rope and cloth. He pulled them away from the gate as Lorne dialed and Teyla readied the IDC. The guards dispatched without any real violence, Ronon and Rodney emerged from hiding and ran to the gate.

Ronon nearly dropped Sheppard when the Colonel's wasted body convulsed in a fit of violent coughs. He sucked in a shuddering, ragged breath that took more effort than it should have, and went still.

" Hurry it up!" Ronon snarled. Lorne already hit the last symbol, and the gate rushed to life, punching out like a fist of crystal liquid. It barely began congealing when gunfire ripped through the air, bullets pinging off the gate and DHD. Everyone cringed with nothing to duck behind. Shots interchanged with the gunfire as three men came rushing toward the team.

Ronon turned away enough to keep any stray bullets from hitting Sheppard. Lorne and Teyla returned fire, Teyla shouting into the radio at her ear. McKay had Ronon's gun lifted, firing, missing, and cussing himself out for it. Ronon had to hand it to the scientist – he'd come a long way in focusing his anger for a more useful purpose. When a stun blast caught one of the soldiers, knocking him down with McKay mumbling a "serves you right, you punctual SOB", it made Ronon grin.

Sheppard would be proud.

" The shield is down!" Teyla cried over the onslaught of weapons barrage. " Go through now!"

Lorne laid cover fire, and the group darted into the event horizon, Ronon being hustled through first, clutching Sheppard's shivering frame tight. They careened through the wormhole, and the moment Ronon stepped out onto the smooth metal floor of Atlantis, he whirled around to witness the rest of the team following through; Rodney, Kace, Teyla, and a few seconds later a panting Lorne. All accounted for and then some, Ronon bellowed for the shield to be raised. The prismatic energy-field blinked on.

Ronon had paused only long enough for assurances. He turned to start moving toward the stairs when Elizabeth met him half-way, eyes tight with trepidation, but reactions controlled.

" What's going on? What happened?"

Sheppard's trembling had been joined by panting, wheezing breaths, increasing the coughs. " No time," Ronon growled, and maneuvered around Weir to continue with his goal. He was stopped by a hand on his arm.

" Specialist Dex! Where are you going? Who is that?"

Ronon turned on her, staring down at her, urgency grinding out his anger. " Dr. Weir..." he said low, dangerously. Not that he would do anything against this woman, never even if his life depended on it, but it wasn't his life that was the problem. Sheppard needed help.

" Ronon," Rodney interrupted. He hurried over to the runner, stopping on his other side. McKay looked at Dr. Weir, then at the man cradled in Ronon's arms. He He reached up and tugged back the hood.

Weir gasped with her hand shooting to her mouth and stumbled a step back. " Oh my gosh...!"

Enough hesitating. Ronon started up again, almost at a run, negotiating the corridors until he came to the infirmary. He did not stop – or acknowledge the looks of speechless shock – until he came to the nearest bed and lowered Sheppard onto it. He stepped back a ways. He was done, but he didn't leave, and wasn't planning to just yet.

Dr. Beckett was by the bed the moment Ronon had stepped back, and for a moment it seemed as though the doctor had forgotten what it was he was supposed to do. He just stood there, staring, and Ronon was about to bark the doctor into action when Beckett finally started up like a machine.

" Bloody hell... someone get an I.V. ready and help me get these clothes off him..."

Beckett's aids surrounded the bed until Sheppard was completely obscured from view. Ronon, keeping an appropriate distance, circled around, craning his neck to see. He witnessed them cutting then tearing away the ragged shirt, getting to the body of skin and bones that was bruised, bloody, and scabbed. Beckett had his stethoscope on, listening to the Colonel's heart.

Sheppard moaned, coughed, and moaned again. His head moved, his eyelids fluttered, and suddenly snapped wide. Sheppard screamed, and with a strength that shouldn't have been possible, jerked upright with a cry of mad terror. Hands grabbed him to try and push him down, so Sheppard struggled, writhing, pushing, squirming, thrashing, panicked as a diseased animal.

" Colonel Sheppard!" Beckett called, his arm wrapped around Sheppard's chest, pushing as Sheppard pulled. " Colonel Sheppard! Lad, calm down! You're all right! You're in the infirmary!"

Sheppard's struggles intensified. His arm lashed out to strike a nurse in the face with his elbow. He swung, intending to smash another face with his fist, only the nurses were quick to duck it. Sheppard screamed, and within the scream Ronon thought he could hear a no, over and over again, almost pleading. He kept trying to strike out while jerking forward to break free of the restraining limbs. He lowered his head to bite the nearest arm, which happened to be Beckett's, and the doctor became the one who screamed.

Ronon didn't care if it was getting in the way. He hurried over and joined the effort in pushing Sheppard down onto the bed. With his strength in the mix, Sheppard slowly descended though he bucked and writhed. The moment his head hit the pillow, the nurses pinned his arms as Ronon put his weight on Sheppard's thin shoulders. The nurses strapped the restraints around Sheppard's wrists. Beckett, his arm bleeding, filled a syringe and plunged it into the crook of Sheppard's arm. Sheppard shook with coughing, sucked in air, and screamed with back arched until his ribs looked ready to rip through the skin.

Then, finally, his body slammed down onto the bed. Gasping became panting, and despite his struggles, Sheppard's eye lids slid closed.

The infirmary fell into a state of unnatural silence. Breathing hard, Beckett looked at Ronon.

" T-Thanks," he rasped, pale and ever so slightly shaking.

Ronon inclined his head and said nothing. He looked at the breakable body he had forced down, and wondered – distantly – what injury he made worse. Even sedated, Sheppard still shook, and his eyes were tight in an expression of pain.

Ronon was impressed. It never mattered how scrawny Sheppard got, the man always had a reserve of strength somewhere.

Above that, Ronon was pissed.

Sheppard had been right there, under their noses, tortured and tormented as the team sifted through Ancestor _junk_. And that wasn't right.

Ronon turned and stalked from the infirmary. No use staying, Sheppard was in better hands. The moment he stepped out of the infirmary doors, he stopped. Everyone was there, waiting, Weir included, plus that Kace guy who quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at him. Ronon wasn't the doctor and wasn't in the mood to make assurances. That was Beckett's department. But he did turn his attention to Rodney.

" Not so stupid going to that world, was it?" he asked.

Rodney smiled nervously and shrugged sheepishly. " Um... No... I guess not."

TBC...

SGA

A/N: Now, on to the recovery, which is usually the other half of the whumping fun. If I did well enough, there should be many tear-jerking moments. And, since writing wise I'm nearing the end, I'm going to increase updates to two a week, maybe more. So keep an eye out.


	11. Leeway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As promised, another update. Because, as always, your reviews make me smile.

A/N: As promised, another update. Because, as always, your reviews make me smile.

  
**11**   


Weir paced. She didn't have much of a choice since sitting agitated her body back into motion.

" He found you?" She asked. For once she folded her arms not out of habit but to hide the fact that her hands were shaking.

Rodney shrugged. His hands clasped on the conference table kept clenching until they lost all color, matching Rodney's face perfectly. " Um... yes... in a way..."

Weir spun around on her heels for her next pass. " What do you mean in a way?"

Rodney shrugged, moved his mouth, shook his head, but didn't say a word. Not in the immediate sense. Words eventually came when Weir turned her eyes on him. Her expression must not have been pleasant the way it had McKay squirming.

" He... uh... he jumped out of the woods and saved my life. And that's all we know except for what Kace here," he pointed a timid finger at the bald man sitting to McKay's right, " told us. That Harl had Sheppard and – uh – tortured him in order to get a few Ancient toys to glitter."

Weir looked at Kace, squinting at him. The man hadn't said a word since the conference started. He returned Elizabeth's gaze, having been staring at her since he sat down. Probably reading her mind, gleaning her thoughts. The idea made her shudder, and hoped her displeasure gave him the hint to back off. But she couldn't tell if it did.

The team had been quick to point out Kace's unique ability.

Weir opened her mouth to form a question.

Kace opened his faster. " Like I already told your folks, I don't know how he ended up in Harl's claws. Friend Shep's mind hasn't been a pleasure to read, neither for me or him, and I didn't want to push it. All I know is, his judgeship was quite desperate to get Shep to light those goodies up and make 'em sing. But Shep, he wouldn't have it. Fought it every step of the way."

Weir snapped her jaw closed. The sudden lack of mental privacy made her skin crawl. However, she took comfort in the apparent disinterest Kace had toward her reactions. He neither took pleasure or offense by her thoughts concerning him. Okay, so he skipped the questions, at least he answered them without a smug grin afterwards that pushed home his ability to toy with her.

It brought about a pang of guilt that pricked her chest. She was basing the attitudes of all telepaths on the wraith. The wraith superiority complex was founded on two things – their deadly strength, and their mind control abilities. They reveled in both, and didn't let anyone forget it. Kace, thus far, was proving to be the antithesis. Elizabeth even caught an inkling of concern in the seemingly stoic man's eyes on talking about Sheppard.

Kace held up a finger and shifted in his seat. " I will say this, though, if it might be of help. Sheppard's been bringing out the curious in me. I tried for a deeper scan but had to cut it short when Shep ended up not faring too well. I saw things, images – wraith ships, space, crashing. Now, it's a habit of mine to pry – for safety's sake, keep in mind. Always gotta know who I'm dealing with. Your folks told me quite an interesting story about our mutual friend, including him going for some wraith hive ships or some such as. And, seeing as how the memories have a fresh feel to them, I think we could probably put two and two together, maybe fill in the gaps with a little guess work."

Weir nodded thoughtfully. " Yes... You're saying he might have crashed on Raal?"

" And that Harl found him," Teyla joined.

" Or Sheppard was brought to Harl," Ronon added.

" Something along those lines," Kace said. " The gaps will have to be filled by Shep. Probably not too pleasant anyways. You see, I wasn't able to go into a deep scan with Harl as I wanted. But it wasn't necessary. The man's an ambitious Muqs – uh, that's a rodent like... thing – but not important. Very cowardly. He has plans, plans I couldn't see straight on, but plans he doesn't want his boss Chief Command Morel to know about. That's as far as I got before some distraction got in the way. Because of these _goals_ or whatever, he got a little too anxious, so used brute force to make Shep a good little boy and do as he said. But, like I said, your Shep fought it every step of the way. Just proves my point that Harl's an idiot. If he'd just been patient about it, scrambled Shep's brain then went for coercion rather than abuse, he could have had Shep lighting those little suckers up standing on his head singing 'The Ballad of Boreth's Lost Love', which, if you don't know – which you don't – has a hundred versus to it. He got panicky, pushed Shep who – obviously – ain't a man who likes to be pushed around."

To which Rodney commented thoughtfully, " _Very_ obviously."

Elizabeth eased out a long drawn breath. " Okay then. Do you know how badly he was tortured beyond just this scrambler?"

Kace's eyes turned in the direction of the conference room entrance. " Your resident doc can tell you."

And like magic – which Elizabeth couldn't help describing it as – the panels eased open enough to allow Dr. Beckett to slip through. The man's appearance was shabby, pale, baggy eyed, and he had one sleeve rolled up above the bandage around his forearm.

Elizabeth stopped pacing, and could feel the color slowly seep from her own face. " Carson? How is he?"

Beckett rubbed his hands together, chewed his lip for a moment, then methodically moved around the table to sit in the chair on the far left hand side. He let out an exhausted sigh. " As of the moment, he's sedated, but I'm not going to say for certain that he's _fine_." Beckett lifted his bound arm. " I'm certain someone made mention of this little mishap?"

Weir nodded. " Ronon filled me in. Said that Sheppard... Panicked?"

Beckett nodded with eyes wide. " Panicked doesn't quite cover it. The man went ballistic."

Kace winced. " Oh, sorry about that. Everything was kind of happening fast that I didn't get a chance to warn anyone. Shep tends to get massively violent when he first wakes up."

Beckett gave Kace an odd look. " Aye, well... that might have come in handy had I been told. We had to strap him down. And let me tell ya, he's not as pretty a sight on the inside as he is on the outside. First off – and if you haven't taken notice by now then you're a blind bugger – he's sufferin' from severe malnutrition. Poor lad didn't have a bloody thing in his stomach. He has too many abrasions to count, probably from a whip or somethin' similar, a few burn marks, and massive bruising all over his body. Right now he's got four broken ribs and three cracked, a crack in his collar bone, left arm, and a sprained wrist. But here's the real kicker. X-rays revealed older breaks that aren't quite healed, one on his right arm, one on his shin, and a rib we were forced to reset thanks to it healin' crooked. If there was any damage done to the organs, whoever had him must have fixed it, since there's no way internal damage was avoided. Toppin' the list, he's got a nasty infection thanks to those untreated abrasions and – I'm guessin' – mighty poor accommodations. Lad's sicker than an old dog, and being already weakened by hunger won't have an easy time about fightin' it. What the bloody hell was done to him? And I say whoever did it ought to be strung up by his thumbs for the vultures to pick at."

Every eye turned to Kace, who had his eyes cast down in pondering.

" Okay, the lashes and the breaks I get. Can't explain the burns. Then again, Harl's been rumored to be quite clever with bringing on the pain. Like I said, they used brute force to coerce rather than sweet talking. But, yeah, they did what they needed to to keep him alive. That much I know. Wasn't around for when it all started."

Beckett pointed at Kace. " Who's this?"

" The man who saved Sheppard, it seems," Weir replied. " Mr. Kace..."

" Just Kace."

" Okay, then, Kace. Do you know any more concerning the chief Judge's plans? Why he wanted Sheppard to activate the devices?"

Kace shrugged. " To use them - himself. It involves the Chief Commander, his distaste toward Harl, and that Harl is spooked. Harl isn't exactly a well liked guy. A looooot of people are looking forward to having his head on a pike. I think he was looking for a better means of security. Which, of course, wasn't working out. But that's my guess. I don't know. There _was_ something else, I just didn't have the chance – and to admit it half the time didn't take the chance – to go a little deeper."

Weir nodded in understanding, but not even remotely close to being satisfied with the answer. She was confident that Raal and Harl wouldn't present much of a threat to Atlantis. She just wanted to know what the hell was so damn important to keep abusing one man over a bunch of stupid contraptions. Harl was in no ways a threat to Atlantis because – officially – Atlantis was a threat to Harl. There would be no limitation of retaliation toward Harl should paths ever be crossed again. For once in her life, Elizabeth was actually dismissing thoughts of diplomacy for thoughts of preemptive strikes against this Harl and his cronies.

Kace picked up on it, and Elizabeth noticed the beginnings of a smirk twitching on the man's face. Elizabeth let out an unsteady breath then ran her fingers through her hair.

" All right. I've detained you people long enough. Post mission checkup, then rest. Believe me when I tell you it's well deserved."

The conference panels slid open as people rose from their seats to depart. Rodney was almost out when he spun around suddenly. " Um... Sheppard. I know he's sedated but... can we see him?"

Carson pushed himself from his seat with a grunt. " Redundant question, Rodney. You're goin' to the infirmary anyways."

Rodney blinked twice. " Oh yeah."

SGA

Elizabeth watched for the muscle twitches, and wondered distantly if they were patterned and timed, or random and rhythm less. The dominant twitch seemed focused on Sheppard's left eye, with the lid flickering from more than just REM. His fingers twitched, a muscle in his shoulder spasmed, then his whole head jerked. He was panting, thin chest heaving, breath rasping. He was fed oxygen through the nose, medicine through the hand with the bandaged wrist, and the beep of the heart monitor was rapid.

Elizabeth reached out with the intent of placing her hand on John's shoulder. It stopped to hover above the intended spot. As much as she wanted the contact that would hammer home the reality of his presence, she was halted by the absurd notion that no matter how lightly she placed her hand on him, he would still shatter into dust.

" It's all right, lass," Beckett said, coming up beside her. " He's out cold. He won't be waken' for a bit."

Elizabeth smiled wanly. " That's not what I'm worried about." She forced her hand down, and her stomach clenched at the sharp clarity at which bone could be felt through skin and gown. Accompanying it was heat, too much heat burning him from the inside out. If she squeezed the gown, she knew, water would come out. Then there were those bruises, all those deep bruises emphasized against the blindingly white, horribly thin face.

Elizabeth lifted her shoulder to wipe the tears from her eyes before they could fall. Tears of gut-wrenching sorrow, and tears of heated fury. With her one hand still on John's shoulder, she reached out with her other to take his fingers into hers, careful of the I.V. and the strap.

" Is tying him down necessary?" she bitterly asked. Carson sighed heavily.

" For now. When he awakes, and is calm, they'll be removed. It may sound harsh, but they're for his own good. He nearly killed himself with that panic attack."

Elizabeth looked back over her shoulder at the occupied beds where the rest of the team sat as nurses checked them over.

" How are they?"

" Relatively fine. Exhausted, shaken, but no worse for wear, though Rodney had a close call with his hypoglycemia.

While suffering a blood pressure cuff, Rodney stared at Elizabeth and Beckett. Probably more appropriately at John. Teyla, Ronon, and Lorne turned their gazes in the same direction every so often. Elizabeth looked back at John, rubbing the tips of his fingers. The rest of his body might have been burning up, but his fingers were like ice.

" I never thought..." she shook her head, strangely numb after having been so overwhelmed by two powerful emotions a moment ago. " I never thought we'd see him... again. I hoped – _we_ hoped... Kept hoping. I think, somewhere, recently maybe, we stopped hoping, because this," she laughed, and half-sobbed, " this is just so... so unbelievable. Having him back, here, now."

She felt the weight of a hand on her shoulder, and turned her head to look at Carson. He was smiling, slightly sad, but mostly bright.

" Bloody miracle, right?"

Elizabeth looked back. " Yeah. Pretty much."

SGA

Elizabeth's eyes stung from the tears she finally let fall in the privacy of her office. She remained seated at her desk, doing nothing, waiting for her eyes to dry and the betraying redness to dissipate. But people were calling for her over the radio, and she couldn't wait any longer. She did another quick wipe, just in case, rose, straightened her shirt, composed herself, and headed out.

John's return was surreal to her. She accepted his presence just fine in the infirmary with him in the flesh for her to see and feel. Outside that mini-realm, her mind slipped back into the old habit of missing John, until slapped back to reality by images of John lying sick and bruised on a bed. Then the tears would try to regroup.

It made her stomach coil and shrink. It was sick. Harl was sick. The people of Raal were sick if they allowed such brutality. But that was being unfair. From what Kace had told her, this abuse against Sheppard was Harl's doing, not the entire planet's.

Elizabeth fell into the comfort of leadership routine, talking to the techs, hearing out discoveries or complaints as she moved about the control room. Eventually, her eyes came to the conference room, and a solitary figure sitting at the table. Never one to ignore curiosity, Elizabeth headed toward the room to find Kace sitting at the seat normally occupied by Sheppard. He was already looking at her, and inclined his head in greeting.

" Doc. Weir," he said.

Grateful as she was to the man for what he did, he still generated unease in her. She stiffened, and clasped her hands behind her back in a show of confidence, then dropped her shoulders on recalling that she would have better luck hiding Atlantis behind a toothpick than hiding her emotions from Kace.

Kace said nothing about it. The man was probably used to it.

" Mr. Kace," Elizabeth returned the greeting. " Have you been in here the whole time?"

Kace pursed his lips and shook his head. " Nah. Let your doc check me over. Says I'm fit as a fiddle – Whatever a fiddle is. Looked like some kind of fancy harbcord when he pictured it. At any rate, he let me go, that Lorne fellow showed me a room I could have, but I wasn't much inclined to rest. Needed to talk to you seeing as how you're in charge and all."

Weir opened her mouth, but Kace held up his hand.

" No, not about getting off this floating town. I'm in no real rush, and to tell you the truth not stupid enough to pass up nice accommodations like this. Mind you I'll probably be using the excuse of wanting to see how friend Shep is doing to stick around for a bit – but that ain't far from the truth. I got him out, might as well see how he fairs. Plus he owes me a thanks." Kace grinned. " And no, miss Weir, I've no real interest in this city, Unless you've got weapons you're willing to trade for some shiny baubles. Doubt it, of course, but still thought I'd try."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. Maybe Kace did like playing mind games.

Kace gave her another grin and shook his head. " Nope. Sorry, Doc. Weir, for beating about like that. Just dismissing a few fallacies before they turn into something nasty. Tends to be the story of my life."

Weir moved to the nearest seat and sat, continuing to face Kace. " What is your story? If you don't mind my asking."

Kace sniffed and leaned back against the chair, angled so he could have one arm draped over the top. " A little like your Satedan friend, only minus a lot of wraith involvement. Mine's not a friendly world, and keeping on the go seems to make life a little easier on me. I've no interest in wars, politics, and contrary to popular belief – gain. I may be a thief, but I'm not greedy about it. I like living, Doc. Weir, and do what I can to stay alive. And that's my story in a gist. And since you seem keen on knowing, Shep was a helping hand in wreaking a little misery on Harl through the confiscation of a few of his possessions. Shep being my cell mate, though, was more coincidence, and a mighty helpful coincidence it was. You've got a good man watching your back, Doc Weir. He was quite adept at watching mine."

As Elizabeth listened, her nervousness wavered. The man was honest to a _lack_ of fault, despite his many imperfections. Then again, who in any galaxy was perfect? He might have been establishing trust out of false pretense, yet Elizabeth didn't think so. She'd seen his bag of stolen goods when the marines sifted through it, and not a single one emitted any form of energy reading. Precious metals and stones, nothing more.

Elizabeth let herself smile some. " Yes, he is good at that, maybe a little too good. We thought we'd lost him for good this time around."

Kace had looked away, down at the floor. He nodded thoughtfully with apparent understanding.

" So I saw. Quite the tidal wave of shock surging through this floating town thanks to Shep's return." Kace's eyes shot up, then at Elizabeth. " a few are getting a little too comfortable about it."

Weir creased her brow. " Comfortable?"

Kace drummed his fingers on the seat. His features, relaxed before, darkened now, as though whatever he were thinking – or reading – wasn't sitting well with him.

" Comfortable, as in already thinking things back to the way they were. Now, you're a smart lady, and not quite to that point yet. You know what happened to Shep's going to leave more than just the physical marks. You're aware of the ramifications of torture."

Weir's body tensed, and she swallowed against a constricted throat. Torture wasn't a stranger to Sheppard, but...

" Never as easy for him to get over as it seems," Kace finished. " I know what I know of the scrambler from the minds I've looked into, but my info is general. It's had different affects for different folks. That's why I wished to see you, Doc. Weir. I wanted to make sure you're aware. Being back in body isn't always being back. Now, rest assured, the affects wear off. But the mans' sick, and fever ain't going to do him a lick of good with his head still fragmented like it is."

Weir folded her hands on her lap, squeezing until pain was created, grounding her. " What can we expect?"

Kace shrugged. " Don't know. You see, Doc. Weir, all Shep's had as any sort of a guiding rope was this solitary defiance against lighting the gizmos up for Harl. Then there was the pain, and the fear, but mostly the defiance. When a man clings to all he's got left, it becomes all he knows. It's like a last scrap of food for him, and he'll fight, and kill, even die to keep it. There's a mess of memories in Shep's head – the good jumbled with the bad, and you can never be sure what's going to surface. Only in dreams is there clarity, but he loses that when he wakes up. It's almost like those games where a person draws a name from a bucket of names. You might be the winner, you might not. Shep's head pulls memories too fast for even him. Eventually, his head'll calm, but the memories will still need to be sorted. And there'll be things – moments, sights, sounds, smells, general familiarities that could trigger any kind of memory, and it'll become all he knows – if that memory happens to be the pain, the fear, the defiance. I know 'cause I've seen it through the minds of the men who carry the scrambler like a weapon. What I can't tell you is if it'll be permanent. Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't. You need to be ready, Doc. Weir. You need to be ready for the worst. I'm just saying."

Weir's hands shook, the pain lost to lack of circulation. She had to pry her hands apart to get them to stop. Her heart was hammering, making it tricky to breathe. She exhaled deeply, cleared her throat, and scrounged for a remnant of composure. " So what do we do then?"

Kace lifted his hand. " Make sure only the good memories get leeway."


	12. Panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: An early posting because I liked this chapter. Good whump in this one.

A/N: An early posting because I liked this chapter. Good whump in this one.

John's recovery isn't going to be a two chapter then he's all better deal. Recovery was meant to be half the fun of this story, so many things are going to happen as his mind settles and body heals. Many, hopefully interesting, things.

  
**12**   


Two days later...

People. People, people, people. Everywhere people. Lots of people. Too many people, flooding faces, like a crowd packing in, shoving John to the center, flowing, flooding, flying over him. Too many, too heavy. He couldn't breathe, so didn't have the breath to scream.

This wasn't right. He felt so heavy, with skin of led. He couldn't start the engine of his own body. _Work damn you!_ This wasn't right. One face, supposed to be one face, not a thousand. Why couldn't he move? Oh yeah, made of led. Maybe it wasn't his skin, maybe his bones. He didn't like this. It was unnatural. Something else was supposed to be happening, something pleasant. Well, not totally pleasant, just better than normal. Because normal sucked, it didn't make sense. Ironically, the unreality made sense. Reality didn't. So what did that entail?

 _Duh, you're freakin' nuts._

 _I could have told you that!_

He was so heavy. _Fight it! Fight, fight, fight!_ Why? Like he could remember, except that why didn't matter. Just the fight for the reason without a name, before the faces crushed him to baking powder.

Oddly enough, breathless and squished as he was, he didn't hurt. Ached, maybe, but it was distant and easy to shove aside. From wolf to annoying puppy, the pain didn't have much say in anything now.

With that little positive, Sheppard felt ever so slightly more inclined to fight. So he pushed through the faces, and sucked in a deep breath. Mistake, that wasn't so comfortable. A little tight around the chest. He went to lift his hand to feel why. A few inches of rising, and that was it. Something had him.

Oh boy, that wasn't good. Last time something had him, pulling him down...

Breaths came fast. Tied down, tied down tight. Squirming, screaming out his defiance. He was a vicious brute, that's why they had done it. He'd been hurting bad that day. They said they were trying to help him, but he was moving too much. Men in cloth half-masks covering their mouth and nose, standing to one side. Baldy with device. Touch it, touch it, _touch the blasted thing!_ Then you will be healed.

" Screw you!" Sheppard had snarled, he laughed then, laughed now. Stopped laughing when bruiser placed his hand on John's bare chest. Why bare? To heal? No, to make cold. Too freakin' cold. It was supposed to be a hospital! Bruiser presses down, just a little. Sheppard recalled agony, recalled screaming. Doctor had enough. "Back off," he says, and pokes John, pushes his skin, along each individual rib.

Broken, all broken. Or all cracked, maybe some cracked, some broken.

Sheppard tries his hand again. Resistance remains – _not so futile now_! His heart tries to hammer itself to death, and it's only going faster, taking his breath along for the frenetic ride. John knows what this is, where he is. Time, no time. They'll be coming, demanding, hurting.

Not this time, not ever again. He won't let them. Get free, grab scalpel, saw, whatever – slit freakin' throats. All of them! Make them bleed!

John struggles, tugs, pulls. It hurts, yes, but the results will be worth it. Pull harder, harder, tug, yank, twist, ignore the pain. Pain's your pal, always had been, and it isn't so loud today so use it, it's an advantage.

Pull, twist, rip. Sheppard feels hot liquid smear his hand. Good, lubrication. He uses it, more advantage, and pulls harder. They'll be coming soon.

John jerks his arm, gritting his teeth, growling out defiance, his friend above the pain. Defiance has his back. He pulls, more hot liquid slicking flesh, leather, and soft cloth. Finally, his hand pulls free, flying upward, and Sheppard gasps in triumph.

Until the noise. Voices, footfalls. _Crap, no, they're here, they're here! Nooooo!_

John can't let them touch him. He lunges from the oddly soft table. But there's a reason slow and steady wins the race. Oops, forgot to free the other hand. John crashed to the cold, unrelenting floor. Someone calls out. Pain's back, and it's decided to be particularly volatile as it rips through his arm.

Sheppard screams.

SGA

" How's the arm. Dr. Beckett?" Kate, one of Beckett's many nurses, inquired, keeping pace with him as they made their way back to the infirmary. Beckett lightly touched the area hidden under wrap and sleeve.

" Not too bad. No signs of infection. The skin may have broken but it wasn't all that deep."

Kate shuddered. " Nothing toward the Colonel, but are you sure about removing the restraints when he awakes? What if..."

" The lad was just scared," Carson said. " I've no intention of keeping him tied down if there's no reason. And I'm sure once he knows where he is and what's going on, there'll be no reason."

Or so Beckett prayed. No picnic for anyone having the Colonel tied down like a mental patient. It was a temptation to take the straps off now while the Colonel was under. No saying what form of restraint had been used in the process of applying to the Colonel the marks that had his back looking shredded. It wouldn't be doing the Colonel any favors to wake up to a nightmare.

They reached the infirmary without fully realizing it – being so conditioned to it and all. The doors parted for them, and welcomed them with a scream of terror.

" What the...?" Carson rushed over to the only occupied bed in the place. He skidded to a halt on seeing rumpled blankets lacking one malnourished occupant, and a restraint dripping blood. Then movement caught his eye, getting him to look down to something thrashing on the other side of the bed.

" Oh bloody freakin' hell," Carson hissed. He rushed around, doing another skid with heart slamming hard enough to burst.

Colonel Sheppard was on the floor, struggling like an animal caught in a trap. His blood-caked left hand, shaking too hard to control, slipped with each attempt at unbuckling the strap still bound to a bloody right wrist. Between each attempt he tried to yank his arm free, abrading the flesh, drawing more blood. But he kept attempting, pulling, twisting, then attempting again. Blood smeared the floor, stained the gown, and was splattered on John's corpse-white face. The man's terror was wild, irrational, and had a bitter taste pool in Carson's mouth with each whimper and plea for the hand to slip free.

It took a moment for Carson to snap back into the here and now, and to get his body to move. He crept with a wide berth around the bed until he came up beside Sheppard, when the panicked man turned his head to look at him.

Beckett expected an increase in the frenzy. Instead, Sheppard went perfectly still say for the shivering, eyes drowning in absolute confusion. Beckett bent his knees into a slight crouch and raised both hands with palms out.

" Easy lad. It's all right. It's just me, just Carson. You know me lad. You know I won't hurt ya."

He eased in toward John. John shrank back in a shivering cringe, and the unrelenting tug of war began to gradually resume. Carson didn't understand why John didn't just stand and undo the strap, unless his panic was that debilitating. The Highland doc continued to speak soothing words, presenting empty hands and assurances that John would be all right. John never took his eyes off him, eyes so terrified and confused it was painful to look into them. But eye contact was the key. Let Sheppard see the truth through the windows to the soul.

" Kate," Beckett said, pausing in his movements. " When I grab Sheppard, you undo the strap."

" Y-yes, Dr. Beckett," he heard Kate say. He didn't look at her; too dangerous to break contact now.

The sound of Kate's voice had Sheppard increase his struggles a few levels, and blood snaked down his arm, completely soaking the sleeve of the gown.

Beckett lunged forward, grabbing John's over-heated, sweat-drenched and blood-smeared body into a loose embrace. John struggled against it by trying to push away, and Beckett understood why John didn't just stand. He was pretty much tapped out. Kittens put up a better fight than him. However, it was still a tricky fight with Beckett maintaining the hold without furthering Sheppard's injuries. He lifted Sheppard, just enough to put slack on the strap for Kate to undo. Her hands shook, fingers slipping over the blood coating the buckle. She eventually loosened it enough for John's wrist to slip free, and the moment it did, the struggles stopped, and Sheppard's body went limp in Carson's arms with chin resting on the doctor's shoulder.

John was shivering hard – head to toe, inside and out. Even his heaving breaths shuddered, interrupted by coughing fits. And he was sobbing, Beckett could hear it, quiet as it was.

" It's all right, John," Carson said. " You're all right. You're out now. See? Didn't I say I wouldn't hurt ya?" He began rubbing Sheppard's back up and down along the protruding backbone. On a normal day it would have been an awkward gesture of comfort, but there was no such thing as a normal day, and the action was almost automatic, because Beckett had needed a way of calming John down without the use of a needle.

However, Beckett still couldn't help the rise of discomfort. John was just too bloody thin.

Kate approached and knelt by the two. One hand she began brushing through Sheppard's hair as taking part of the comfort act, and the other hand she used to lift Sheppard's arm to look over the abrasions.

Sheppard had basically skinned himself in his struggle. Carson, joining the scrutiny, sighed heavily. " Help me get him back into bed. A different bed."

Beckett took the front, Kate the back with her hands under John's armpits, and they lifted him onto his feet. Except his legs refused to take his weight, so they had to practically drag him to the nearest bed leaving a trail of crimson drops. Kate raised the head, then aided Carson in getting John settled, which was far more awkward than a simple back rub. In a rather sick twist of fortune, at least they didn't have much weight to deal with.

John didn't react as he seemed preoccupied with staring at Carson with a lined brow as though he were trying to figure something out. Kate fetched the needed supplies of a bowl of water, a cloth, antibiotics, bandages, suture materials just in case, and a fresh, folded gown. She wheeled them over on a cart by Beckett. He administered a pain killer, and as he proceeded to cautiously clean Sheppard's left wrist, his eyes lingered on the way John held his right arm protectively against his chest.

Carson gestured at it. " Your arm hurt lad?"

John nodded stiffly.

When the blood was gone, Carson studied the bright red abrasions and pink raw patches still attempting to ooze out more blood. John had really worked himself over this time around. Carson wanted to kick himself.

" Should've just taken 'em off," he grumbled. " No sense in strappin' an unconscious man down." As he applied the required ointments then wrapped John's arm in gauze, he looked up at the mute pilot. " I'm sorry, John. This was my doin'. Gave into paranoia. You didn't deserve this, so don't ever think ya did."

John just kept on staring and puzzling. Carson puzzled in return.

" Taken a vow of silence John? Why so quiet?"

A muscle in John's jaw twitched, but his mouth stayed shut. Carson shrugged. " Guess you're not up for conversation then? No matter. Just never thought I'd live to see the day when John Sheppard had nothing to say. Although I suppose the real kicker would be a mute Rodney. Now that'll be hell freezing over the day that happens."

" What the hell happened!" yelped a suspicious sounding voice. Carson grinned.

" Speak of the devil..."

Rodney rushed over to stand at the foot of the bed, slack jawed, pale, and wide-eyed. " What happened to Sheppard? What's with all the blood? He didn't... didn't... you know, try to..."

" Kill himself?" Carson snapped. He turned his head to glare at Rodney. " No, he didn't. And I'd rather you not be thinkin' about the possibility." He returned his attention to administering to John. " I don't know what happened. A nightmare probably – fever induced - definitely him being strapped down. The poor lad was so terrified he ripped his arm free of one restraint, fell off the bed, and got caught in the other. And there's a good chance he's broken his arm to boot. Lad's brittle as glass so it's not like it would take much for that to happen."

With the left wrist and hand wrapped, Carson reached for the other. On trying to move it as gently as he could, Sheppard's face contorted with discomfort. But the pain meds had been the good stuff, so no agony was involved. Didn't mean pain was totally out of the picture, though. Carson had Kate hold the bowl under the arm as Beckett squeezed water over it, then lightly wiped away remaining dry blood. John swallowed tightly, hissed, and tried several times to yank his arm back. All in all, however, he allowed Beckett to do what needed to be done. It left John shaking with eyes watering, but never got a peep out of him.

Carson wrapped the bandages loosely to help stop the bleeding for now. " Let's change the gown then get him into X-ray." Carson said. " Rodney, lend a hand here."

Rodney rushed around to the other side of the bed. Carson was stunned by the man's eagerness when on any other given day he was usually fixated – blanching – on the blood. He helped Kate raise Sheppard enough for Carson to remove the gown, cutting the right sleeve rather than attempting to slide it off. The man was in boxers, so no real loss of dignity for him in that respect.

The bandages around John's chest and on his back hid nothing. If anything, they enhanced the frailty. Beckett shot a glimpse at Rodney and his tight expression and moving throat. Shock was ever present, but underlying that, Carson witnessed sorrow.

Carson didn't even try to get John's arm through the sleeve of the new gown. He let the gown cover it for now, tieing it only at the neck. Kate fetched a wheel chair, and Rodney aided Carson in moving Sheppard into it. Sheppard tried to stand, the effort plain on his sweating face, but his legs just wouldn't hold him. He had to be lowered into the seat, and the expression that resulted broke Carson's heart.

It was a look of defeat, of utter shame. John just stared at his hands, letting his head hang. Carson clasped his shoulder.

" It's all right, lad. You can't rush these things. You'll be back on your feet before you know it, you mark my words."

" Yeah," Rodney said. " 'Cause no one's going to want to wheel your scrawny ass around forever."

" Rodney," Carson admonished.

" What! I didn't say anything wrong. Besides, Sheppard thought it was funny."

Wrinkling his brow, Carson leaned to the side and in for a peek at John's face.

The Colonel was smiling.

SGA

Kace wandered into the infirmary as though he were on a meandering stroll. Truth to the matter, he'd actually been called in, and knew the answer why before the marine fetching him had even shown up.

Kace spotted the skinny man in a bed on the left side of the room, arm wrapped in a cast from hand to elbow and tucked safely in a sling. Green-Brown eyes looked black through the heavy, slitted eyelids. Sheppard had his head lolled to one side, vacant as a corpse and just as pale. Exhaustion clung to him like several layers of second skin, heavy yet numbing. The man was worn to the metaphorical bone, with only a dust mote of adrenaline allowing him to keep his eyes partially open.

Kace shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat on stopping beside the bed. He looked Sheppard up and down, noticing for the first time the white cloth bandage around his wrist. Kace – at the risk of making his own head spin – did a surface scan of John's thoughts. He started in surprise at the images popping up – all with a kind of 'theme' as it were, the theme of being bound. They flickered back and forth, sometimes dwelling, sometimes snapping in then snapping out of existence. Kace saw the prison infirmary – familiar to Kace since a visit was mandatory before being tossed into crap-hole cells. Can't have diseased prisoners where viruses thrived like insects in the summer over a stagnant pond. Sheppard was there, strapped to a metal table, shirtless, body cut and bruised, face bleeding, arm bent above the wrist at a funny angle. Panting, defying, Harl hovering with a device, Gorek applying pressure to busted ribs, and a doctor's protest.

Between those image flashes were those of John's recent adventure. Caught, struggling, and the doctor with the weird accent stepping into view. There was pain, fear, but it was all subdued when the doctor showed himself. Kindness, care, gentle treatment as wounds were cleansed. Another face, familiar, that scientist – McKay – and fear was nothing more than a squeak at the back of John's skull.

These images danced around eachother. Or, more appropriately, fought, with one leading to the other, the other leading back to the one. Still, Kace was impressed. The images may have been wild, but it was only the two, nothing else trying to push its way in because of some minute reminder leading to it.

John's brain was calming down. Still, Kace didn't quite understand the less than pleasant image of the infirmary. Some kind of torture? The doctor hadn't looked too happy about the abuse Gorek was laying on. And John seemed – as far as Kace could tell – quite coherent. No fear on the face, only in the mind, which was mostly stifled by pain and the cold. He also wasn't so emaciated. Slender, yes, but mostly muscle and bone rather than just skin and bone. This had occurred before the scrambler.

Kace tentatively reached out and placed his hand on John's bony shoulder. John flinched, rolled his head in Kace's direction, and just stared. Kace sensed wariness, but also a slight inkling of calm at seeing a familiar face. Kace smiled.

" Hey there, friend Shep. Sorry for taking my sweet time on dropping by, but folks here have a bit of a paranoia problem – no offense to them. Not that I don't understand why or anything, but that guy your friends call Caldwell seems keen on having me watched, and all those suspicion waves from my 'escort' gets a little annoying after a while. Lot of interesting minds in this city, I gotta tell you. Not that I've been purposefully digging around into various skulls, but the thoughts and emotions to come snapping about tends to bring out the curiosity beast in me and I can't resist."

" And you wonder why Caldwell's having you followed," said the sarcastic stained voice from behind. Kace turned his head to see McKay approach the foot of the bed with arms folded.

" This is a highly coveted city, we're a highly coveted people, with lots of coveted technology, and we've had a lot of problems with security. You do the math."

Kace never could lose a grin, because taking offense just wasn't in him. He understood way to much to let it. " I did the math a long time ago, Doc McKay. Personally, I've never had an interest in technology I can't work – which, basically, constitutes your entire city. I know there'll be no convincing anyone to open up their trust to me, but I'm not worried. Whatever secrets your people have they're yours to keep. I've no interest in information that might have me tortured for extraction purposes. Story of my life. People want what's in my head – or what I can get out of other folk's heads – so do whatever they can _and want_ to get it out. So believe me when I say – in a scan, if there's some vital bit of info concerning security, codes, names, ranks, what have you – I give that wide birth like it's an angry Gruth trying to protect its kits."

The twisted look of confusion on McKay's face almost had Kace bust out in laughter. Instead, he shook his head. " I _ignore it_ , friend McKay. The knowledge your people carry inside their head would make my life miserable if anyone found out I had it. I'm more fascinated by these moving picture stories I've caught snippets of in a few brains. What do you call 'em? Movies? Now that's a bit of techno I wouldn't mind acquiring. A nice way to watch folk without their emotions muddling you up."

McKay relaxed, just a tad, which from what Kace gleaned from the man and from the opinion of others, was as far as he went in relaxation. There was still uncertainty as a means to keep McKay's guard up, but other than that he accepted Kace's explanation.

" Actually," McKay said, " that's probably the only technology we don't mind sharing. Besides being known to deplete a few brain cells – though that's mostly my opinion – it's not like it can be used to blow us all up or anything."

Kace nodded thoughtfully. " True. So you brought me to check on Shep's head, eh?"

Rodney visibly tensed, dropping his arms and scowling. " Will you not _do that_! I mean, I don't know if it's something you like to do or something more automatic, but for the sake of not creeping me out, can you let me talk first? Pretend that you can't read my mind?"

Kace shrugged. " If you wish. Although my way's faster. Keeps people from beating around. Drives them to the point, you might say."

Rodney's brow smooth over speculatively. " Huh, never considered that. I can't _stand_ it when people ramble and don't say what they meant to say..."

Kace cleared his throat. " Already did a scan. Shep isn't out of the river yet, but he's wading through. The muddle's less muddled and I actually caught a glimpse of something more definite concerning what happened to him. Can't say exactly what it was I saw – torture or a crappy rescue. Shep was hurt, but he was clear in the head, and he wasn't in a bad way hunger wise. All in all, I'd say I saw a smidgen of a prequel to before my encounter with him. He was strapped to a table, being hurt, same old, same old."

Rodney's eyes drifted anxiously to the right, and Kace followed the man's gaze to a blood splattered bed with bloody restraints. Kace's heart actually jolted at the sight, a sight he couldn't tear his gaze away from.

" You..." he stuttered. " You... you had him tied down?"

He looked at Rodney, felt the man's annoyance, his sadness, and even a little shame, all of which he tried to cover with more annoyance.

" I had nothing to do with it. Carson had to tie him down so they could work on him. He was going nuts, even bit Carson." Rodney sighed. " They didn't have a choice."

Kace looked back at Sheppard. The man was now sound asleep, breathing softly, perfectly content in the stability of his dreams. Kace pursed his lips thoughtfully. Kace might have been quick to kindness, but not always pity. Still, he pitied the thin man, having to wake up to a bad memory...

" You have to be careful what you do to the man," Kace explained. " A fractured mind moves fast, and even something as small as a pebble could trigger a memory like an avalanche, eventually leading to the bad."

" So what do we do?" McKay asked, tersely, nervously, even a little fearfully, but with plenty of conviction. Kace could have told McKay to drop Sheppard into the ocean for a wake-up call, and he'd probably do it.

" Simple enough. Bring out the happy memories, and don't overload him. He's home, back in the familiar, with familiar faces. It's already starting, it's just going to take time until his mind starts to settle. That's all I can really tell you for now. Oh, and to be careful. You don't know what'll trigger what and even I can't tell you. Not yet at any rate."

He looked at McKay. McKay, however, was looking at Sheppard. Worry, lots and lots of worry, rolled off him, carrying with it the sadness, anger, and conviction. Kace narrowed his eyes.

" Not meaning to pry. Just caught a glimpse, really, but I could have sworn you once said something concerning hating friend Shep?"

" I always say that," Rodney blurted, his mind wrapped in the hatred he kept building up against Harl.

" Why?"

Rodney removed his gaze from Sheppard to glare at Kace. " Why don't you stay out of my head. That's why."

Kace smirked. " Bad choice of words, friend McKay. I'm a curious man, and for someone so quick to talk the words, you certainly don't adhere to them that well."

McKay snorted. " They're just words. And no need to play shrink. We've already got one."

" Oh I'm not playing at anything. You've a complex mind, Doc McKay and I'm not talking in terms of all that knowledge you've got stuffed in there." Kace studied Rodney for a moment. He was tempted to pry a little further, ask questions concerning the snippets of imagery concerning a wraith ship, imprisonment, and escape. Kace's claim to curiosity wasn't an exaggeration. It was a universal trait among his people out of reasons of caution, and once peaked was hard to let go of. People were far more fascinating from within than without. But Kace knew how and when not to push his limit. Better to gather the info for himself at some point and time since any questions Kace had would be answered by a massive, resounding no from McKay.

" I'm flattered you think so, but stay out of my mind anyways. I don't know what passes as etiquette on your world but around here bouncing around in other people's brains is considered rude."

Kace shrugged. " As you wish, friend McKay. Mind you, though – I'm not responsible for what slips from your mind into mine. It happens."

" Not if I can help it," McKay grumbled. Kace decided not to tell him it was happening even now. The man's brain was as rampant as his mouth, a perpetual motion machine unto itself. And he had a feeling Shep would be inclined to agree.

SGA

A/N: Yes, let the healing commence.


	13. Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: More recovery, more angst. The fun never ends. Gold to the reviewers! And tissues. Lots and lots of tissues.

A/N: More recovery, more angst. The fun never ends. Gold to the reviewers! And tissues. Lots and lots of tissues.

  
**13**   


Elizabeth ran to the infirmary. It lacked dignity, probably didn't inspire much awe for said expedition leader, but she was human, flawed, and had the right not to give a crap. She'd been holding back long enough, waiting with baited breath, walking on eggshells until the okay sounded over the radio from Beckett. Sheppard was awake, and Elizabeth wasn't going to hide her excitement over it.

She only slowed when she nearly impacted into the infirmary doors that she hardly gave a chance to open. She took two seconds to gather her remaining composure, and walked in as though she'd been walking the whole time. Beckett was moving to meet her, but Elizabeth's focus went beyond him to rove the room until her gaze turned left to settle on the infirm body inclined in a partial sitting position on the bed. A nurse was next to John, methodically tilting a blue plastic cup set at his lips, his throat moving rhythmically to work down the contents. On his face was a look of weary rapture.

" Please don't tell me this is a bad time," Elizabeth breathlessly said. She heard Carson chuckle.

" Course not, Elizabeth. He's having some broth. I just wanted to tell ya that him stayin' awake varies. He's still got a fever and his body isn't in the mood to multi-task. So don't take it personal if he nods off on ya. He's not makin' a statement toward borin' conversation or anything."

Elizabeth smiled. " He does that just fine during briefings." She headed over to the bed in time to see the nurse tilting the cup almost perpendicular for John to get the last few drops. When finished, she gently wiped his mouth with a wet cloth, set it and the cup on the tray, and pulled it away. Elizabeth grabbed the nearest stool and dragged it over to the spot formerly occupied by the nurse.

John's eyelids were attempting to slide close, taking his head with it when it lolled to the side. Elizabeth bit her lip in uncertainty on whether to interrupt this attempt or just let him sleep.

It was decided for her when she sighed and John jerked awake with a sharp intake of breath and widened eyes. Breathing fast and shaking, his head darted around the perimeter until landing on Elizabeth. He stilled, and just stared at her.

Elizabeth smiled at him, sadly but she couldn't help it. " Hi John."

John's brow creased thoughtfully. Elizabeth had assumed him to be staring, now knew him to be studying, scrutinizing, puzzling something out concerning her features. His eyes roamed over her face, flicking up, down, left, and right, from hair to chin. Moments of realization interchanged with moments of confusion. He reached out with a trembling, bandaged hand toward her face, only to pull back timidly when the confusion made an assault that overwhelmed him.

Elizabeth reached out slowly to take John's hand into both of hers. " It's all right, John. I'm real if that's what you were wondering." Even clasped, his hand still shook. She lightly squeezed his fingers, and turned John's hand palm-up. Small drops of blood had soaked through at the wrist, dark in the center, and radiating out fading to pink. Carson had filled her in on John's mishap trip off the bed. Seeing the aftermath made her heart ache and stomach clench.

" I really missed the hell out of you, John," she said, turning his hand gently, studying the thin fingers with their nicks, cuts and calluses. Against pale skin John's veins stood out like rivers of blue. She began rubbing his hand because it was still ice cold. " I still do, if that makes any sense. I mean you're right here, right now, I can feel you, but... it's like you're not... complete. It's like... there's still more of you that hasn't come back yet. I just wish you would say something, is all." She shrugged. " One word, pointless, doesn't have to be witty. Of course I could actually go for something smart-ass coming from you." She coughed out a laugh. " Funny the things you tend to miss. But – yeah – I missed that."

Elizabeth looked up into John's face. His head had sagged, and his eyelids were hovering on slits. He was trying, he really was, to stay awake, and Elizabeth could have sworn she saw his lips trying to twitch toward a smile. She set his hand down beside him to reach out and smooth his hair back. She really couldn't get enough of his physical presence even if his mental presence was what she longed for. There had been no getting used to the silence always present even within the noise, like a gap where his voice was supposed to be, and that her ears had kept straining toward to hear out of habit and hope.

They were still straining. She needed his voice, his support, his unwavering back up. His absence had brought about one of those moments where one doesn't know what they've got until it's gone – again. Not that she ever took his presence for granted. Times when his presence was lacking wouldn't let her. He wasn't just some military commander handling the grunt work off on the side, he was _her_ military commander – not Earth's, not the SGC's – _hers,_ Atlantis. Her support, her back-up, even in the face of higher ranking officials telling him what to do otherwise. True, they had their moments of differing opinions and views, but he had never – ever – attempted to usurp her, shove her aside like an incompetent. Hell, even the trust issues were less of an issue these days.

He was also a hell of a lot easier to be around than those stick up the butt career military firm in the belief that they knew better. Elizabeth chuckled inwardly at the thought.

" It's all right John," she soothed. " Go to sleep. You need it."

Whether giving into her permission, or simply unable to fight it, John relented, and his eyes snapped closed the rest of the way. Gentle breathing followed, thin chest rising and falling. Elizabeth pulled the blankets a little further up John's body, then just watched him sleep.

Coming to the Pegasus galaxy had brought many surreal moments to her life. She added this one to the collection. But it was a surreality she couldn't get enough of. Having John back in body had made her year. Having him back in mind would make her year and years to come. She doubted she'd ever be able to let him out of her sights again. She knew she'd never stop listening for him.

SGA

John squirmed against the rough upholstery of the easy chair, rubbing his arms on the arms of the chair to scratch the itch that same chair was creating. He should have been in his long sleeved shirt. His t-shirt was making him cold, and didn't keep out the poky material. But itching wasn't really a major concern at the moment. Just a distraction. Funny how he felt that, and cold, when it was supposed to be ninety-degrees with the only relief being open windows and a whirring rotating fan.

Beyond the windows the day was blindingly bright. Inside it was dusk, misted by the rippling heat John couldn't feel. The couch beneath the window was a silhouette, and so was the figure sitting on it. A turn of the head outlined the side of the face, with shadow on shadow marking sharp features. John gripped the edge of the arm rests. Another funny; he couldn't hear birds even with the windows open. All he could hear was the buzz of the fan, and the shift of cloth from movement.

" Good times kid," said the man on the couch. A new sound emerged, the slosh of liquid in a glass bottle that flashed amber when lifted to the unseen mouth.

John looked down at his hands – his adult hands – blue-veined, pale, and shaking. New kind of funny. Wasn't he supposed to be young? Way, way younger? But who really cared?

John lifted one shoulder in an a quick, awkward shrug more fitting to an adolescent than a grown man. He smiled just as awkwardly. " Yeah, it was, dad."

A fishing trip. John recalled a fishing trip. Good times indeed. His dad had resigned himself to only beer the whole time – and separate tents, just in case.

Except that, on the final night, it hadn't helped. John's dad had woke up screaming, running from the tent into John's tent to grab him, haul him out, throw him to the ground to cover him against a bombardment that wasn't coming. Post traumatic stress had that effect on people. Most called it shell shock, except that it didn't take a bang or a pop to set his dad off. It just happened. Drinking... helped, sometimes. Sometimes, it made it worse. So John just watched. It was all he could do.

But screw the last evening. The rest of the trip had been a blast.

" Could we do it again?" John innocently asked. He recalled sitting in the boat on the mirror still lake, bored out of his skull, until his dad started cracking jokes. They hadn't caught a damn thing, but man life had been good – perfect even – those hours spent on the lake.

His dad's head dropped. " I um... I don't think so Johnny."

John looked uncomfortably away. " Oh. Um... Why?"

His dad looked back up. John could see his face better now. Dark hair, almost black, almost long, receding a little from the forehead. His dad had always joked that John was lucky baldness was only inherited on the mother's side.

Mom. Where was mom? Six feet under, that's where.

His dad sighed. " Johnny, you know why."

John did. Oh boy how he did. He gripped the armrest tighter until his fingers dug into the scratchy material.

" It – it wasn't your fault, dad. You know that, right? You didn't mean... It was a freakin' accident!"

His dad leaned forward, elbows on the knees so his hands could dangle and the bottle with it. " I broke two of your ribs, Johnny. We had to cut the trip short because I broke two of your ribs all because of some damn dream. That was strike three."

" But it was an accident!" John yelled. " I don't want them to take me away! It was a _frickin' accident_!

His dad slammed the bottle onto the coffee table. " No, Johnny, it was frickin' lucky you didn't get hurt worse. I could have killed you, and I almost did. This is the way it's got to be, kid. I'm not safe to be around. I know it, the state knows it... but you could never get it through your head. You go to live with your grandpa who gives you the life I wasn't giving you, and you still took off to find me. And what did you find? A grave, a frickin' grave! I kept failing you, Johnny, and like hell I was going to keep on failing you."

John shook his head stubbornly. " No, hell no, no way. You did _not_ fail me! I don't care what the hell anyone says. You were good to me, you took care of me..."

His dad began to laugh, bitterly, the sound more like a sob that a snicker. " Oh, man, Johnny, you really don't let yourself remember, do you?"

" What the hell do you mean?"

His dad tilted his head. " Come on, kid. Nights alone either because I was working or passed out. Your gut always hurting because I could never keep a job long enough to put food on the table. Crap, kid, you were so skinny I was surprised no one took you from me sooner for that alone. Then all the nightmares, the screaming, being pulled from your bed 'cause I thought some Vietcong was in the house. I was messed up, kid. Goin' down fast and taking you with me. I mean you did good covering up the bruises and all, but it was inevitable, kid. You needed to go, get out, get saved... And you did. I mean, look at you now. A Lt. Colonel. I couldn't even get past frickin' major. And commander of an alien city?" He chuckled, this time sincerely. " An _alien_ city!"

John smiled shyly. His dad has always been quick with the praises, even if it had been something as small as tossing a football a few meters farther today than yesterday.

" Johnny, you can't deny it. Being taken from me was the best thing to ever happen to you in a long time. My pop was good to you, gave you the life I wanted to give you. You can't put that down."

John would have denied it with every fiber of his being, except underlying that denial was the cold, biting truth of it all. John hated that, and would have gladly ripped it from himself, chucked it, and never looked back on it again. But since that wasn't possible, he'd stuck with simply ignoring it all together by erasing the moment of transition from when he was taken from his father to go live with his grandfather. All he ever let himself recall was the good, and only the good. The rest was irrelevant.

John's eyes burned with unshed tears. He clasped his hands, wringing them together, fingers dinging into the flesh, but without any pain to show for it. He looked up at his dad's shadowed form. " You were still a good dad."

John saw, through the shadows, a sad smile. " Thanks kid. I'm just sorry I couldn't do more."

John swallowed. " That's okay. You tried."

" I could have done better."

" Maybe... Doesn't change the fact..."

His father sighed. " You're a good kid, Johnny. You always were. And I loved that about you."

They fell silent, and not even the fan could be heard. It had stopped without anyone having to turn it off. Maybe Ancient gene powered, John couldn't say.

" I can't remember their names, dad," John said. " I know them, their faces. I just... their names... Nothing – nothing sticks. I – it's scaring me dad." John started trembling. " What if I don't ever remember?"

He looked up at his father, could see his face more clearly, and the rest of him. He had his uniform on his well-built frame. John only recalled seeing him like that, only once, the day he was shipped out, before everything went wrong in their little world. Back when mom was still alive.

His father smiled. " You'll remember. You know why?"

John shook his head.

" Because it's too important to continue to forget. Don't be afraid, Johnny. You'll be all right. You'll get through this. And you're not alone 'cause – hell – you never have been. You really need to stop thinking that."

John smiled. " Thanks, dad."

" Love ya kid."

SGA

John opened his eyes and waited. Waited, waited, waited, his heart beating so hard, so fast, he couldn't breathe fast enough to keep up. What was he looking at? A ceiling, metallic, pretty. Smells, weird smells. No, familiar. Clean, overly clean, and chemical. Well that's different. Where was the pain? There was supposed to be pain? They always came for him after the dreams. Where was he?

John didn't risk movement, not even to turn his head or his eyes. He started quaking, because something was wrong. Or maybe nothing was wrong. Or maybe...

His thoughts drifted away from him. Faces waltzed in, clearer now. And there was an ache in his chest, his heart. A dull ache that made it hurt to swallow. Then he had to move. His face was cold, he didn't know why, and it scared him. He lifted a cloth-wrapped hand to his face and wiped, bringing his hand away to see moisture shimmering on his fingertips.

Maybe something already happened. Except... beside the ache... he didn't really hurt.

He dared to move again by rolling his head to the side.

Where was he?

Metal walls, metal floor, clean, beds, clean, everything clean. Machines, complicated and large. They made John nervous. Devices, maybe. More devices for the touching, dropping, and hurting. Why was he here?

Faces, where were the faces? Didn't he see them? For real? Feel them? Where were they? Another dream? But he doesn't feel in the dreams. He wanted the faces back. They made sense. But... he couldn't remember the names.

He wanted to see the faces. He needed the faces, to know they were real. He _knew_ they had to have been real.

John gritted his teeth as he attempted to sit up, and the pain made manifest, going from a fading ache in his chest to a different kind of ache that throbbed and increased. It hurt, bad, driving the breath from his lungs and dropping him back to the pillow, panting, coughing, and shuddering. That only made the situation worse, giving the ache strength. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing only on his breathing. Someone had told him to do that once, twice, many, many times. Man with the funny voice who took the pain away. Where was he? John needed him. He needed the pain gone, wanted it gone so bad, before the bald man came with his devices and more pain.

No, that wasn't right...

His own mental ramblings were interrupted by more coughing.

" Colonel Sheppard?"

A hand on his shoulder, feathery light. His heart slammed, and he yelped, pulling away by trying to snap upright, which turned the pain to fiery agony. He cried out, dropping back to the pillow, sobbing with chest convulsing in ragged gasps.

" Colonel Sheppard, it's all right, you'll be all right."

Very odd. The voice was kind, gentle and female. Quaking, wondering if he might regret this, he forced his head to turn and look at her. The pretty lady with the dark shoulder length brown hair smiled at him. She had a needle, but didn't stick him with it. She stuck it in a little tube in the little bag hanging from the pole.

" This should help with the pain," she said. And, like Hokus Pocus my word be done, numbing warmth spread through John, and the pain slunk away. He breathed easy and filled his lungs until the slight twinge told him when to stop. Twinges were better than the pain. He looked back at the pretty nurse smiling at him as she adjusted his blankets.

Then came the man, a face he knew. Man with the funny voice who takes the pain away. John stared at him in wonder. To see the face, real, beyond a floating image that came and went in his head, made his heart beat fast. It was the same every time, with every face existing beyond his dreams. He recalled so much, but too fast. With funny voice, it was pain, then pain gone. Pain, pain gone, pain, pain gone. It was always gone when funny voice was around. Within the images bouncing in his head were words, but too quick and quiet to be properly grasped. John creased his brow trying to concentrate, pulling the thoughts only to have other thoughts push them away.

Had this man strapped him down? No, that couldn't be right. He'd already gone over this. But... Sometimes. Yet... there had been reason. Hadn't there?

" Glad to see you're awake, lad," funny voice said. John liked the way he talked, how different it was. It made John feel comfortable, made the man seem always nice. Talk to the nice man. Make him talk more in that funny voice. Bring out the images, make them dance, then maybe the whispered words would speak louder. But John couldn't get his voice to work, or think of words to say.

" Ya hungry, John?" funny voice asked while placing a familiar instrument into his ears, then placing the other down the front of the gown to touch it to John's chest.

Sheppard nodded to the question. Funny voice moved the object around John's chest.

" Could you breathe in for me John?"

John inhaled deep until the twinge, and exhaled when funny voice told him to. Funny voice tsked, and that made John nervous for reasons he couldn't recall.

" Still congested." Funny voice removed the listening device, and picked up another device, this one small and hand-held. Familiar, very familiar, but John couldn't recall... It looked – like a weapon... like... like...

Carson was bringing it toward John's head.

 _Like you know exactly what._

John's heart did another slam. In a burst of terror, he bolted upright, and with every measly ounce of energy he could gather scrambled from the bed, dropping to the floor. Pain erupted, but the terror stomped it back for him to go scrabbling across the cold, slick floor with no direction and no real intent except to get away. It was a blind panic, and when he met the barrier that was the wall, he stumbled and scurried along it until he came to a second barrier. He was trapped. Funny voice, the pretty lady, and another lady were coming toward him, surrounding him, cornering him, boxing him in. He pushed himself into the corner, shrank against it, drawing his knees up and grabbing his head to protect it, panting, whimpering, and shaking until his teeth chattered.

The three converged close with hands held palm out and fingers spread, with no devices present. But they could be close, hidden in pockets, up sleeves. Wait... had that ever really happened?

" Easy John," soothed funny voice. He looked worried, sad, even a little scared. Not angry, not even close.

" Easy now, lad. It's all right. We're not gonna hurt ya, son." John couldn't be certain of that. They had one of those... hurting things. They were going to stick it to his head, turn it on, twist his brain.

But he had no where else he could go. He was surrounded, though only funny voice was approaching now. John shrank further into a cringe, still breathing fast, sometimes making small, whimpering sounds with each exhale. Funny voice knelt slowly beside him, and even more slowly reached out his hand. John turned away, squeezing his eyes shut (as though that had ever saved him from the hurting device), and wrapping both arms around his head though the cast hurt when it tapped against his skull.

Instead of hands trying to pry his arms loose, and cold metal against his temple, he felt the weight of a warm hand on his shoulder blade, and heard only calm, kind words.

" John, I swear, ya no need to be frightened. Come on. Come on out and look at me."

John opened one eye, and turned his head enough to have funny voice in sight. He still looked sad, and worried.

" What is it, John? What scared ya?"

John looked over funny voice's person. He saw it, trying to hide in the pocket of the white coat. John stared at it. It was different but... not by much. White, not metal, with a blue-green tip. Just fancier really. He gulped. Just looking at it made his head hurt.

Funny voice followed John's gaze to the pocket and device. He reached in and pulled it out.

" This?"

John flinched and tightened his hold on his head, shivering so bad his limbs felt ready to snap apart. He looked at funny voice, pleading with his eyes. No – _begging_ Funny voice wasn't supposed to bring pain. He took it away. He was supposed to take it away. Right? _Right!_ But John couldn't quite recall. Too congealed, like paint smeared on paper. For once, John's breaths were keeping up with his thundering heart.

" Is this what's the matter?" Funny voice asked.

Tears burned John's eyes, pooling, then spilling. " P-please." It hurt to talk. Made his head throb, his throat ache, unless he did it quietly.

Funny voice's face went slack, and he blinked suddenly rounded eyes. " What? What did you say?"

John had done it now. But it was too late. If he didn't respond, they would make the pain worse.

" P-please..." he whispered in a rasp. " Please... don't." He swallowed when his throat when horribly dry. " D-don't..." and in an even smaller, barely audible voice dared to say, " hurt... me..."

Yes, he had definitely screwed himself now. Funny voice's jaw was hanging open wide enough for John to see his tongue. The two nurses just look confused. John wracked his brain for what it was he had done wrong. No devices had been presented – couldn't be that. Names, there were the names. Maybe that. Maybe they were tired of him not knowing their names. It didn't sound right – feel right – but John couldn't think of anything else.

" I-I'm... s-s-sorry. I-I'll, t-try harder... remember. To... remem-ber. Don't... p-please don't..."

Wrong again, he knew he was, because it had felt wrong. Something was off, he couldn't grasp it, understand it. What was he missing? What did they want? Tears came faster. He was too confused and too scared. They won't give him any food now. Just give him the pain. But that couldn't be right. Funny voice took pain away...

His head began to throb, then pound, and he rubbed his hand along the side of his head, trying to massage it out of existence, but it hurt too much.

Then, John saw something – and though it didn't still his mind, it quieted it.

Funny voice's eyes were shimmering. He snapped his jaw shut, and swallowed thickly.

" Ma..." it came out as a squeak, so he cleared his throat. " Madison, love. Go bring up the broth for the Colonel. Jenny, go find that Kace fellow. Tell him I wish to speak with him."

" Yes, Dr. Beckett," they said in unison, then hurried away, exiting the room.

John blinked. Beckett. Beckett, Beckett, Beckett. He knew that word, that name. But it was only one part of a name. John tried to recall, but became distracted. Funny voi – _Beckett's -_ eyes were shimmering again. This time, a drop of water escaped to go sliding down his face.

" John..." he said in a thick voice. " You probably don't remember, but as a doctor, there's an oath I have to take. And a part of that oath is to do no harm. But even if I hadn't taken that oath, I'd never harm ya lad. On my life, I never would. This..." he took the device, and set in on the floor. " I'm not sure what you think it is, but it's really nothin' more than a thermometer. I was just goin' to check your temperature. But that's all right. We can do it orally – the old fashioned way."

Beckett pushed the device hard, causing it to slide across the floor, out of reach. " See? No more of that. So will ya trust me, lad? Trust me to help ya?" Beckett extended his hand, palm up and empty. John stared at it, then at Beckett.

An oath, a promise. Yes... that sounded right. Familiar. Safe. He pried his bandaged hand from his head, and tentatively reached out to take Beckett's. Beckett's grip was firm, but not painfully so. As John pushed himself up, Beckett pulled. On his feet, John stumbled, and would have fallen if Beckett hadn't caught him. Still holding on, he helped John shuffle back to the bed, then aided him in climbing in. He pulled the covers up to John's waist, after which he cleaned the cut on John's hand where the IV needle had been ripped out. He placed a bandage over the wound, and reinserted the needle in another vein. John winced at the pinch. Pain, but not a bad pain. Quick and forgettable.

John watched it all, fascinated. Why had he been afraid? He didn't recall, only that he had been. But he shouldn't have been, not of this man. It made his chest tighten, and he looked away, at the arm wrapped in a cast.

" S-sorry," he whispered, because it was the right thing to say, and needed to be said.

" John, look at me."

John did, and it startled him to see Beckett smiling, though the wet shimmer remained in his eyes.

" No need to apologize. Ya did nothin' wrong."

No anger. Just worry, sadness, and surety. John shuddered with utter, draining relief.

Man with the funny voice – Beckett.

" F-friend... Right?" John ventured hopefully.

Beckett, still smiling, clasped John's shoulder. " Aye, lad. That I be indeed."

SGA

A/N: More interesting moments to come. Stay tuned for our next installment.


	14. Superman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There's been so much tear jerking in the last chapters, I thought a smidgen of action and fluff was in order. Marshmallows for all!

A/N: There's been so much tear jerking in the last chapters, I thought a smidgen of action and fluff was in order. Marshmallows for all!

  
**14**   


Two days later...

Ronon didn't normally squirm. He'd stared wraith in the eyes, men who wouldn't hesitate to skin him alive, and things so inhuman they couldn't be described in words. The key had always been to maintain a perfect lack of motion, holding the head up high, never even twitching a single eye from the eyes staring back. It revealed no emotions, no fear, only a sharpened ability of self control. He could stare anyone and anything down, since if he had to die, it was the best way to go.

Except this wasn't a life or death situation, or – as McKay had once put it – a stupid staring contest. Sheppard seemed to have nothing more than a genuine fascination in Ronon's face, a fascination that sometimes morphed into confusion, then into unease sparking with fear. When that happened, Sheppard would shudder and shrink back a little until the confusion resurfaced, climbing into what Ronon thought had to be realization when John's brow lifted.

It made Ronon nervous, ambivalent as to what it was John was looking for, why he slipped into fear, and whether or not he might fall into another one of those seizures.

Sheppard was sitting on the edge of the infirmary bed, dressed in gray sweat pants and socks. The long sleeved black shirt was folded beside him at the ready for when the nurse finished cleaning the stripe wounds on Sheppard's back. Ronon stood in front of Sheppard for the purpose of catching the skinny man in case he pitched forward.

Sheppard's unwavering vigil of Ronon's face wasn't the only thing making the big man fidget from foot to foot. After the nurse finished the wound-cleansing session, Ronon had been volunteered to help get Sheppard into the wheelchair, and skin and bones John still gave Ronon the impression that the slightest increase of pressure on the man's arm would easily snap it in two. Ronon had overheard people use the term 'frail' when talking in murmurs about Sheppard. It tended to piss Ronon off, but only because he wasn't within sight of Sheppard at the time. He tried not to use it now, except that his own mind had other ideas, and the word popped up because it was – to his annoyance – the only word that fit.

Ronon hated it. It was demeaning toward the man. So what if he was a skeleton in body? It sure as hell didn't make him weak, not from what Kace had told them concerning Sheppard's hell-bent stay with that wraith-bait Harl. Strength wasn't always about muscle – and in Sheppard's immediate case; sanity. What it all came down to was resolve, and finding the means and motivation to fight on when all odds were stacked against you, waiting to pummel you down.

Sheppard and himself were proof that the odds didn't always triumph. Sheppard deserved better than pity. He needed respect, which Ronon gave. Yet seeing Sheppard the way he was, with bone protruding through stretched skin, the bruises and wounds, made Ronon want to kill something (more appropriately someone). But to show that anger in the now would have made Sheppard nervous, spooked him – Kace had mentioned as much – so it was a mite nasty struggle trying to remain stoic with the marks of torture and abuse glaring at him all over the pale, gaunt frame.

John, too preoccupied with Ronon's features, began to list slightly to the side. Ronon carefully grabbed his bicep to ease him back up. The sudden movement, however, caused John to jump, and Ronon could feel him shaking, though that might have been because he was cold.

Teyla came up to them, rolling the wheelchair before her.

Ronon glanced at her. " You sure this is a good idea?"

Teyla locked the chair in place as Beckett had shown her. " Dr. Beckett said it would be all right. Colonel Sheppard's fever has passed, and he has regained some strength. Dr. Beckett also believes that this outing may help John's memory."

The nurse put a small thermometer in John's mouth, then proceeded to wrap his chest as the red line in the thermometer did it's thing. Ronon had heard from McKay who'd heard from Kace who'd spoken with Beckett that John had expressed a nasty phobia to that electric thermometer normally used. Supposedly, it had been too much like the device utilized to stir John's brain into chaotic mush. When the nurse finished wrapping, she took the thermometer out, looked at it, nodded, and helped John into the long-sleeved shirt. He was good to go.

Ronon moved to one side of John, Teyla the other, and they aided him in sliding off the bed and onto the floor. His knees bent, but the support of John's team-mates kept him up. They gave him a moment to lock his legs before moving with him to the chair. They let him do the walking – more like a kind of shuffling a ninety year old man would do. They eased him into the chair, and Teyla draped a thin gray blanket around his shoulders.

Teyla started to wheel Sheppard toward the infirmary doors when Beckett walked by.

" Remember. If he shows signs of exhaustion, or has a seizure, ya bring him back quick," he said. Teyla nodded.

" Of course, Dr. Beckett," she said.

Outside the infirmary waited Rodney and Kace. It would have felt like some kind of reunion, but Ronon still had his doubts about Kace.

" So why are we doing this again?" Rodney asked.

" To help John recall better," Teyla replied.

" Sure it's safe? I mean what if he has another seizure?"

It was Kace who answered. " It's a chance that's just gonna have to be taken. The man needs some memories to focus on – good ones. Besides, your doc gave us something that should help."

" A sedative," Teyla provided. " When he shows signs of the seizure, we are to give it to him and it will prevent it from happening."

Rodney shook his head. " Uh-uh, I don't like it. Maybe we should wait until he's a little better. Has more strength..."

" It is only a short walk," Teyla explained. " A start toward his mental healing. And we will not be going where there are many people. John needs further assurances that he is home, and this may help."

It was always blatantly obvious when Rodney wanted to say more, especially the way his jaw would slack, twitch, and close. Since no words came out, the conversation was deemed over and they started off down the corridor to the less occupied parts of the city. Sheppard's head was in the constant, fluid motion of taking in his surroundings at a glance. The look on his face interchanged from child-like fascination to careful – almost painful – concentration. It was when they passed an exit leading onto a balcony that John's gaze lingered, his head turning as far as his neck would let him, then the upper half of his body.

There was no getting used to this Sheppard. Not that Ronon wanted to, not if the old Sheppard could be retrieved.

Retrieved. Thinking in terms of retrieval, Ronon was starting to believe that people really could shatter and be scattered. They had John's body, not his mind. That had been left in Raal, and Ronon itched with twitchy trigger fingers to go fetch it. Except that this odd impression was what Rodney would refer to as a 'metaphor'. Although a large part of Ronon actually believed that killing Harl would make everything right, and that the old Sheppard would be snapped back into existence once that brain scrambling device was shattered.

Also as Rodney would say, Ronon had been watching too many of those earth movies. Life didn't like to mete out the simple answers. Breaking was easy, putting back together took time. But so went the ways of destruction. Quick fixes were a luxury.

Even Ronon longed for such luxuries. He expressed nothing because it was easiest, while inside he was begging for this team he called a family to be as it once was. A childish desire since nothing ever went back to total normalcy – ever. There would be scars, demons, issues – there already were. Still, even a semblance of what was would have been preferable to how it was now. Part for Sheppard's sake, and a part for Ronon's own sake, because even he wearied of losing friends, watching them suffer, hearing them scream, seeing the marks of their pain. Odd men like Sheppard, annoying men like McKay. They didn't deserve this. None of the team did.

Rodney was rambling on about the maintenance needs of this corridor, what he could do to increase the power for this area, which would in turn open up further living spaces, allowing for there to be extra personnel. Then he started complaining about the various and vague signs of water damage, which somehow led him to how incompetent certain scientists were – namely Kavenaugh.

Ronon almost smiled. He had no desire to tell McKay to shut up, for the most part because that was Sheppard's department. Yet at the same time, the chatter didn't bother him. Hadn't for a while, really, and not that he'd say anything. Today, however, it was almost pleasant.

Almost normal.

SGA

Carlyle was sweating. This wasn't his job. He wasn't a freakin' Ancient version of a janitor, and he had no idea what the hell he was doing. He was a scientist, not a technician. But since he was the one who screwed up the power conduit in lab five, then as a general rule – and since he had the better idea (not really but like he was going to say as much) of what he did wrong – then it was his baby to put to bed. Or else face the wrath that was Rodney McKay.

" Dude, hurry up," Averson hissed. Growling, Carlyle swiped worm-like wires from his face, digging deeper in search of the crystals that were supposed to power the stupid thing. Averson hovered above and beside him lending his useless support and motivations. He didn't even have the courtesy of handing Carlyle the needed tools.

" Averson," Carlyle said flatly, twisting wires together to see what that would prove since he seemed unable to get to the crystals. " Either find me blueprints to this piece of crap, a better expert other than Dr. McKay, hand me tools, or shut up and get lost."

" I'm not going anywhere until I know you fixed this thing."

Carlyle huffed out a breath and sagged. " Averson, though I will regret telling you this, if you left, now, then you wouldn't get caught."

Averson snorted. " Not bodily, no, which would leave the situation for you to lay the blame on me. Even though this was your project and I was just the innocent assistant."

Carlyle started in surprise, thumping his head. " Assistant! Averson! You're the one who kept increasing the damn power on that stupid device! _You're_ the one who said it was safe and that the thing could handle it! Therefore, _you're_ the one who blew this console to _hell!_ So yeah, I'd make sure you took some of the heat. But there's a good chance neither of us have to be blamed, so either help me or shut up!"

Averson sighed and squatted down beside Carlyle. " Move!"

Carlyle shoved the man aside with his shoulder. " Oh hell no! I meant help by handing out the tools. No way am I going to let you screw this up further."

Averson righted himself, then attempted to take the wires from Carlyle. " Quit whining, I'm helping. Now move aside and let me have a look."

" No! I'm doing just fine, now back off!"

" You back off! You want my help or not?"

" Not any more, no."

Averson grabbed another set of wires, and without even looking, twisted them together. They sparked, the whole console sparked, there was a pop, then the sound of warning klaxons eerily reminiscent to when that nano-virus was let loose. The lights flickered, died, and doors slid shut.

Carlyle and Averson exchanged terrified looks, then pointed at eachother.

" You did it!"

SGA

Rodney's train of thought died on his lips, then fled from his mind all together when alarms that sent tendrils of ice shooting down his spine blared all around them. His head shot up at the flickering lights, then back just in time to see the door slide shut.

Rodney's heart went straight to his feet. " Oh hell." He looked ahead, at another sealed door, just before the lights died all together.

The alarms, the doors – bad trip down memory lane to yet another unpleasant time in Rodney's life. The lights – that was a little new, as was the alarms suddenly winding down as though the battery powering them had run out.

" What is happening?" Teyla asked.

Rodney dug around in his pockets until he pulled out his mini-flashlight. Clicking it on, he went straight to the door behind them. He knelt before the panel just as his radio clicked.

" Rodney, do you copy?" Dr. Weir's voice.

Rodney pulled out a mini-screwdriver and proceeded to pry off the panel. " Loud and clear Elizabeth. Know what's going on?" He was strangely calm, probably because he was mostly annoyed than frightened, putting fear in reserve until he had something to actually be afraid of.

" I was going to ask you the same thing. Where are you?"

Rodney shined the beam of his light into the electronic guts of the door control system. " Uh... at the moment, trapped in the exceedingly less populated area of the city. Not too far from the infirmary I think."

" Who is with you?"

" Teyla, Ronon, Kace and Colonel Sheppard. We're all fine..." Rodney glanced back, shining his light on Sheppard. The man was still glancing around, looking nervous, but other wise seemed calm. Rodney just hope he stayed that way. " Yeah, peachy. Listen, so far this looks like some sort of combination lock and power down. The lights may be out, but I've gotten into one of the control panels and it still has that nice glowy quality to it which – as I certainly hope you know – means it's still working. So people with the right skills and knowledge should be able to get these babies open. If this is some kind of lockdown, it's one we've never seen before and – let's hope – has nothing to do with viruses."

" No reason to panic?" Weir said with a slight twinge of humor.

" Elizabeth, in situations like these, panic can't be avoided. Doesn't mean you can't also keep a clear head about it at the same time. I'll see if I can't get to you, but it may take a while."

" Understood. We'll do what we can from here. Keep in touch. Weir out."

Rodney reached into the crystalline intestines of the panel. He removed one hand to retrieve his pocket knife to cut the wires. Suddenly, the panel flickered, blinked out, while at the same time the lights flickered and blinked on. Rodney flinched back, craning his head around.

" What the hell!" He tapped his comm. " Elizabeth, who did that?"

" I have no idea, Rodney. Reports are coming in, the doors still don't work."

Rodney nodded though Elizabeth couldn't see it. " Obviously. It's like some weird power fluctuation. At least I hope it is or we're stuck here. We'll have to wait and see. Rodney out."

Rodney had to be quite proud of himself at the calm he was maintaining, though inside fear was trying to squeeze in as the dominant emotion. He couldn't explain this, had theories, ideas, but it was all speculation, and he didn't like that. Definite answers meant definite solutions. Without them, it was all blind luck, and when it came to unknown technology, going in blind was like driving through a hostile country without a map or weapon.

 _War analogy. Crap, I always suspected something about Sheppard was rubbing off._ He looked over his shoulder at the Colonel. The man was still visibly nervous, still glancing around. Kace, who had been watching Sheppard intently, met McKay's gaze.

" Something about being trapped isn't sitting well with him."

McKay gave him the "no-duh" expression. " It's not sitting well with me, either."

Kace smiled. " I'm thinking for the same reason as Shep?"

McKay furrowed his brow at that. He was mostly chalking his own unease to his occasional claustrophobic tendencies. But as he thought about it, he came to realize something deeper, something more disturbing.

Sealed places – like cells, like prisons. Bad places, bad situation equaling bad memories. And until power returned to the door, there was nothing to be done about it.

Ronon must have sensed the similarities. He was looking less happy than usual. Only Teyla and Kace were calm, Teyla rubbing Sheppard's shoulder and speaking soft, comforting words. She adjusted the blanket around him, and it was then Rodney noticed John's hands were trembling.

The wait was obnoxiously long. Ten minutes according to Rodney's watch when the lights flickered off and the panel flickered on. McKay jumped at the opportunity, slicing wires and splicing them together. The door opened an inch, but the next combination of wires had them closing again. Then the panel died, and the lights returned. This time around, the wait was fifteen minutes before the lights died. McKay worked fast, barely twisted the wires, and the panel shut down on him before the results. McKay cursed, sweat beading his forehead and tickling down his neck to his back. The next wait wasn't long, five minutes, but he didn't have a chance to even look at the panel when it shut off again.

No rhythm to this meant a power fluctuation, maybe even something wrong with the generators. It was all increasingly pissing him off whatever the reason, and heads were going to roll if this was a man-made blunder. And when has it never involved the hand of man? Or, more appropriately, incompetent scientists? Yes, heads rolling, then stuck to a pike.

McKay turned to rest with his back against the wall. " Okay, if this is some kind of lockdown, then it was put into place as a practical joke. Except I'm not laughing."

Lights died, panel lived, and McKay scooted around, grabbing the wires, his haste making his hands shake and sweat making them slippery. He couldn't even twist when the lights returned. He slammed his fist into the wall.

" Damnit! Ow!" He shook his hand, blew on it, and remained crouched before the panel with hands at the ready.

The lights went out. McKay attacked, twisting wires until the doors slid open.

" Ah-ha!"

The doors slid shut.

" Son of a...!" he tried again. They slid open halfway, then slid shut again. _Practical joke, definitely a practical joke. Maybe I should visit Chaya, see if she doesn't know who came up with this. Ascend, choke them, bash their head against an ethereal wall..._

McKay tried a different wire combination. " Come on you stupid..." he snarled. The door slid an inch only to slide shut again. " You stupid piece of...! Come on!"

The lights flickered back on, revealing a face hovering on the right out of the corner of Rodney's eye. He whirled around with a yelp, jumping back, then breathing out a relieved sigh to see Sheppard crouched beside him.

" Sheppard, what the hell!" McKay snapped.

John jerked in startlement, doing another nervous look about. He was confused, uncertain, then lifted his hand, holding something out for Rodney.

A power bar.

Rodney looked from the bar to the thin worried face, then hesitantly took it. " Um... thanks."

He peeled off the wrapper and took a bite, which pleased Sheppard in a way that he appeared to visibly relax.

Teyla slowly approached John and knelt beside him. She placed her hand on his shoulder. " Colonel. perhaps it would be best if you returned to the chair..."

The lights died, and the panel glowed. McKay set the power bar on the floor and attacked the wires. Somewhere in the distance echoed the thump of another's failed attempt at getting a door open.

" They're coming?"

Rodney had barely heard it, but the voice, quiet as it was, had cut through Rodney's brain like a saw. With the flashlight held firmly between his teeth, he turned his head to illuminate Sheppard. The Colonel had himself pressed cringing against the wall wearing an expression of pure terror.

" He his shivering," Teyla said, trying to adjust the blanket to wrap around John.

" Bad memories," Kace said. " Real bad."

Rodney didn't know what to do, or say, and was officially a little terrified himself. He removed the flashlight from his teeth, but kept it trained on Sheppard.

" Um," he stammered, heart racing. Chances were, anything he had to say would end up making things worse. But stronger than that logic was the need to say something, anything, that might calm his friend. " No, no they're not coming. You're... um... safe. You're with us. You'll be all right. We won't let anything happen to you."

He didn't wait to see if his words worked. Since it was apparent Sheppard needed out of here, Rodney returned his attention to the panel.

The lights returned, and Rodney cussed in a non-stop stream of profanity, all while thumping his forehead against the wall. Then he just kept it on the wall, rolling his head back and forth, wishing torturous happenings to whatever Ancient had fixed the system to cause something like this to happen. He rolled his head toward Sheppard to see how he was doing. Sheppard was staring at him, worried, confused, still frightened but not on the level of terrified. Sheppard reached tentatively forward with a quaking hand, and in the same manner held out the power bar Rodney had set down.

Rodney wanted to laugh, and at the same time cry. Sheppard was nervous – of him, Rodney McKay, the man whose remarks had yet to ever put a dent in the Colonel's emotional psyche. It wasn't right, normal, and Rodney hated it. Sheppard wasn't supposed to be – no, more than that – Rodney _didn't want_ Sheppard to be afraid of him. He didn't want Sheppard to be afraid period. It was a cruel existence to live like that, thinking even friends had the potential to cause harm.

Sheppard really was messed up.

McKay took the bar, and in return gave John a gentle pat on the shoulder. " Thanks." He then bit into the bar.

Sheppard began rocking and rubbing the side of his head, eyes squinting thoughtfully. With his other hand, the one in the cast, he pointed at McKay.

" S-Superman?"

This time, Rodney did laugh, albeit sardonically. " I think we already established that no one in this city thinks I'm superman."

The corner of Sheppard's mouth twitched upward. He was trying to smile.

" Superman."

McKay lifted his head from the wall. " Wrong, Colonel. You were right from the start. I am in no ways, by no means, Superman. I can't even get this damn door to open."

Sheppard nodded. " Yes."

" No, I can't. Stupid system is screwing with me."

Sheppard nodded harder. " _Yes_."

There was a conviction behind that simple word that startled McKay. Sheppard's usual show of faith was normally masked behind sarcasm and Sheppard telling McKay to shut up and get to work. But this was so... raw, clean, a kind of child-like certainty as though Rodney really could do anything, and Sheppard had no doubts.

Like he really was Superman.

McKay was so startled by it that when the lights next died, he didn't react for a moment. Then reality snapped him back, and he went for another assault, working fast. The door inched open, closed, opened halfway, closed, then opened – just as the lights came on – thus staying open.

" Yes!" McKay cried, and without thinking turned and grabbed Sheppard into a hug. The nauseatingly clear feel of bones through the shirt and blanket had him realizing what he was doing. He released John, but kept his hands on his bony shoulders.

" Oh, sorry. You all right?"

Sheppard was smiling at him, actually smiling, lop-sided, wistfully, a little vacantly as though the driver had ditched the car - again. Still, it was a good sight to behold.

" Uh," Rodney began. " Ronon, grab the chair. Teyla, help me move Sheppard."

Rodney took one of John's arms, Teyla the other, draping them around their shoulders and lifting John to his feet. They dragged him into the next corridor and when Ronon came with the chair, set the Colonel in it. They headed to the next barrier, passing the exit leading onto the balcony. The lights flickered off, and Rodney broke into a run for the next door. He slid to a stop, dropping to his knees and prying off the panel. Round two of wire configuration began, with the lights remaining off for much longer than last time.

" Uh, we've got a problem," Kace said. " Seems Shep's loose again."

Rodney snapped his head around, flashlight in teeth, casting the beam on an empty wheel chair.

" Phun uh a..." He pulled out the light. " Son of a...! What is his problem?"

" I think I know where he is," Ronon rumbled. Rodney scrambled to his feet. The door could wait. Besides, if they weren't all here to rush through it, then all efforts would be pointless. They hurried back up the corridor to where the light increased, and came to the balcony entrance.

There they found Sheppard standing at the rail, blanket wrapped tight around his skinny frame as the wind made the corners flap and flutter.

" Huh," Kace said, but didn't say anything more as he seemed to be musing something over. Rodney rolled his eyes and stepped out onto the balcony.

" Hey Sheppard, come on, we need to..."

John turned his head to look at Rodney.

He was smiling. Not wistfully, not vacantly. This one was pure, tired, but genuine – a smile of contentment, of peace. It had Rodney stopping in his tracks, and the words dying in his throat. But it wasn't just the smile that had knocked him.

Tears rolled down Sheppard's face.

" H-hey... Mc-Kay."

Rodney blinked. " Um... Hey..."

Sheppard looked back out over the ocean, glittering azure under a clear blue sky. Salt-scented breezes toyed with John's hair. He moved closer to the rail, to a pillar, leaning against it and sliding down to the floor, huddling himself into the blanket. Rodney moved in closer, slowly, uncertainly. He crouched beside Sheppard and looked into his face, at the heavy-lidded eyes and the placid smile.

John inhaled deeply through his mouth. " It's... nice... here," he breathed out. " Nice."

The crisis and the need to get the doors open left Rodney like water down a drain. And, oddly enough, so did every other immediate worry. He reached out a hand, and clasped John on the shoulder.

" Yeah, it is. It always is."

Teyla stepped onto the balcony, squatting beside Rodney. Sheppard stared at her, trying to fathom her.

" Teyla," Rodney said.

" Teyla," John repeated. " Teyla."

Ronon came in next, standing behind Rodney and Teyla. Rodney jerked his thumb at the big man.

" Ronon."

John nodded, as though agreeing. " Ronon. Dex."

Rodney chuckled. " Exactly." He looked back at the telepath leaning against another pillar, standing beyond the small group, but present as he was supposed to be. Not a team member, but a familiar and friendly face to John.

" K-K..." John stammered.

" Kace," all three of Sheppard's team said as one.

John sighed. " Kace. Kace. Kace... Kace, Teyla, Ronon, Rodney..." He returned his gaze to the ocean, repeating the names over and over, almost like counting. Teyla moved closer beside the Lt. Colonel, sliding her arm across his shoulders, pulling him in so that his head rested on her shoulder as he recited and watched the ocean glitter. Ronon stood protectively over them, and Rodney just watched as the Colonel recalled.

SGA

" Got it!" the tech called. The doors slid open, and Beckett, Lorne, and several medical personnel rushed through. The effort, though shortened now that the techs knew what they were doing, still felt like forever. Beckett was beyond worried to being almost frantic concerning the one patient that normally caused him the most trouble. Not that any of this was John's fault – normally, it was never his fault that misfortune smiled on him so much – but that didn't decrease the worry, only enhanced it. The fever aside, John was still weak, and relapses were a strong possibility for him.

They raced down the halls, passed a balcony, and on to the second door.

" Doc Beckett!"

Carson slid to a stop and doubled back to see Kace leaning out of the balcony entrance, pointing.

" What you're looking for's in here."

Kace stepped out of the way, allowing Beckett to enter to see his patient surrounded by his team. He was still wrapped in the blanket, leaning against Teyla who held him, with Rodney beside her and Ronon standing behind all three.

They said nothing, because there was nothing to be said. Feelings were mutual as they stared out across the sapphire bright ocean. When Beckett moved around them to get a look at John, it was to see him asleep, with a small smile on his peaceful face.

SGA

A/N: If you are wearying of the recovery aspect of the story and long for action, please stick with me. One more chapter of recovery to go after this one, then things will take an interesting turn.


	15. Decontamination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: _Life is one crushing defeat after another until you just wish Flanders was dead_ – Homer Simpson. Which has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you people are awesome! I just felt like quoting Homer.

A/N: _Life is one crushing defeat after another until you just wish Flanders was dead_ – Homer Simpson. Which has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you people are awesome! I just felt like quoting Homer.

  
**15**   


It was like gutting a fish, a massive, alien fish made of metal with guts of wire. John regretted every mechanical organ he removed, but couldn't understand why. He didn't even know what the hell it was he was working on. Not a car. Definitely not a car. More like a plane or... ship. Space ship – sounded about right. What kind though? It was too scorched, banged, and ripped up to give a more specific name to.

On the other side of the skeletal heap, the thick bodied old man leaned down to reach beneath the console and pull out a mess of transparent wiring like liquid worms. He wiped his oil smeared brow and looked the cluster over.

" Sorry Johnny," he said. " This puppy's shot to hell. Ain't no way we're getting her back together."

John tossed the part he was holding back into the mess. " Son of a..." Except that he shouldn't have felt regret. The ship didn't matter. Him being alive mattered.

No, the ship did matter. Or something about it. What happened to it. What _did_ happen to it?

Gramps planted one hand on the ripped seat, and the other on the console top. " Putting it back together isn't the answer, Johnny. It's a waste of time. You've already got what you need up there in that head of yours."

John wiped his hands off on his shirt – his torn, scorched, and bloody shirt that had him quickly looking up.

Gramps sighed. " You can't hold back like this, Johnny. It ain't good for the head. You're gonna have to recall sooner or later."

John looked imploringly at his grandfather, and swallowed. " Why? Why is it so important? What does it matter? It's over. I'm home. I'm – I'm remembering things... important things. Remembering this," he slammed his fist into the console and didn't feel it, " won't help."

Gramps leaned forward. " But that's the thing, kid. It will help. The reason, Johnny. It all comes down to the reason. You know why it ain't right to make the objects light up for strangers?"

John looked away, hiding his fear, failing to hide a shudder. " Because... They can use them... against us?" he looked back at Gramps nervously.

Gramps pressed his lips into a firm line and straightened. " More than that, kiddo. It's like giving a stray dog food, it'll follow you home. You give folks what they want, the wrong folks, and they always want more. Makes things worse. If you remember, Johnny, you can use that, just in case since they're already greedy SOBs. You might not see the last of 'em, you know. Well, more like you never know." Gramps tapped the side of his gray-haired skull. " You got what you need up here, Johnny."

John cringed. He wanted to leave this ship, this place... But not Gramps. He felt safe with Gramps, always had, he just never admitted it.

The older man came around the seat and embraced the younger man. John was shivering, frightened, wanting to vanish out of existence. He didn't want to recall, not if it would do something to him, set him back, make it all worse again.

Every time he recalled, it was the memory of pain that came first.

John gulped. " It's uh..." he chuckled nervously, " a little scary in my head right now, Gramps. Especially when I start to think about... you know..." John felt heated drops running down his back. Gramps increased the strength of his embrace. He'd always been a big guy, a head taller than John, thick in body, with rough and calloused hands from working on cars. John felt fragile in the elder man's arms. Too tight of a hug, and he would shatter. But Gramps seemed to know this, and in truth always had. The man liked to hug – bear hugs for friends, but gentle hugs for wife and grandson. John wasn't into touchy/feely, but Gramps had always been the exception, because with arms like his, John knew he was safe.

If Gramps never let go, John wouldn't have mind. He longed for the things that made him safe, even if it seemed a little childish.

Gramps lifted his large hand to the back of John's head.

" You can do this, kiddo. You need to do this."

John nodded into his grandfather's broad shoulder. Maybe he was recalling wrong. Even now, Gramps seemed so large. Then again, maybe that's how he had always been, at least in John's eyes.

He missed Gramps. He missed his dad. Hell, he missed everyone, even the people still with him. He wanted it all back.

" Slow and steady, Johnny," Gramps said. " It's not over yet."

SGA

John awoke with a quiet gasp. A rather pleasant gasp filling his lungs with oxygen that didn't stink of urine. He blinked the film from his eyes and stared at the metallic ceiling hovering over him.

He knew where he was. Took him a moment but... He lifted his arms, his free arms, and rubbed both his eyes. Yes, definitely knew where he was. No pain, no being restrained. A good place, nice place. Home? Yes, home, he was home, had to keep reminding himself. Thoughts of home flitted through him, and he sighed contentedly.

" Colonel Sheppard."

John jumped and snapped his head around. Beckett stepped back with both hands raised.

" Sorry! Sorry, son. Didn't mean to startle ya. Just saw ya awake and wanted to see how you were feelin'."

John smiled. He knew that face, a named face, and recalled the name. " Hi... Carson."

Beckett smiled back. " Hi lad. How are ya? Any pain, discomfort?"

John had to take a moment to assess himself. An ache, mostly in his head, but subdued and manageable. No real pain today.

John shook his head.

" Excellent. No need to ask, but it might be safe to assume you're hungry. Already have someone bringin' you food." Carson placed the stethoscope to his ears, and lifted John's scrub shirt for a listen to his heart and lungs. " Some oatmeal," Carson said. " With toast and a protein shake. You need some meat on ya, lad. Ribs aren't meant to be that visible. Speakin' of which..."

He dropped the stethoscope to let it hang from his neck. He removed the shirt and undid the bandages around John's chest. He was careful about probing the ribs. No pain, just twinges of discomfort John nodded to every time Carson asked. Carson talked of X-rays, and wrapped new bandages, hiding the uncomfortably visible bones. When finished, he handed John the shirt for him to put on himself.

" John, you've been makin' good progress. Your little adventure durin' the lockdown and three days of movin' about – I'm thinkin' you're ready to further your walks. Say other than the infirmary and in a wheelchair? Granted you won't be goin' alone, not for a wee bit longer. You've still got plenty of strength to regain and I'll not have you takin' any chances, or any spills. But you keep up what you're doin' and you'll be back to your quarters in no time."

John nodded. Quarters, a good thing. His room. He wanted to see his room, couldn't recall what it looked like. Perhaps he would go there, to recall. Recalling wasn't so bad now, and he wanted to remember more. It brought nice feelings, remembering, as though he were accomplishing something grandly important.

The infirmary doors opened, and Rodney walked in carrying a tray and looking annoyed.

" You know what's funny?" he said. " How we can repair something when we still don't know how it was broken in the first place. Sort of like that time my cousin stopped by and her four year old managed to switch the language on my TV. Those two preschoolers who dare to carry the title of scientists managed to combine three separate lockdowns and couple it with a schizophrenic power surge – and they have no idea how!"

He passed the tray on to Beckett, and John watched in wide-eyed hope as Beckett placed it before him. John looked at the food, looked at Beckett, back to the food then back to Beckett. The Highland doc nodded reassuringly. No vocal permission now. But like John needed permission, he knew that, he just couldn't hold on too the knowledge permanently. It was like an oiled down fish that every time he grasped, it wriggled, squirmed and flopped out of reach until he grabbed it again. Basically the recent story of his life. It was odd, and scared the hell out of him, the way his thoughts did their own thing, teasing him with minor control, but calling the majority of the shots. A thought called on his own volition would start a chain reaction of thoughts popping like fireworks in his brain, or sometimes whirling like a pinwheel – round and round they go, stopping where they wanted, not where John wanted.

But there _was_ control. At least he had that much. He vaguely recalled a time where there had been no control, and thoughts erupted with or without him – mostly without him.

It explained the headaches.

John dove into the food, shoveling oatmeal into his mouth, a part of him hurrying before Beckett changed his mind. Another part of John knew that that was ridiculous, and berated himself for thinking it, hollowing out his chest with guilt. Then the first part would fill it with the cold ice of fear that Beckett had seen that guilt, and knew John had thought something he shouldn't, and his second half berated him harshly again, making his stomach clench.

John's surroundings did a little tilt-o-whirl thing. He twitched his head, shaking the turmoil from his brain, and completely forgetting what it was he'd been thinking only two seconds ago. Something about guilt, and food...

He had food, so didn't try to recall. Probably wasn't important anyways. Still, he was getting tired of this on again/off again amnesia deal. At least Beckett had assured him it would pass, and John had finally got it nailed to his brain that Beckett could always be trusted when he assured something.

Rodney continued his tirade concerning incompetent science teams and hair-trigger Ancient technology. John listened and actually enjoyed listening. In all truth he knew that normally he'd be tuning Rodney out by now, letting his mind wander to thoughts of surfing or things he needed to get done by the end of the day. But that was before the physicist's griping had become another building block to the reconstruction of his memory concerning home.

It made him feel... good, simply put. Although he wouldn't remember what was talked about three minutes later – not that he really cared. He just enjoyed the normalcy of it.

While ranting, Rodney watched Sheppard scarf the food and down the drink.

" Isn't he done yet?" Rodney said, interrupting himself to do so. Carson narrowed his eyes dangerously.

" Ask him yourself, lad. He's right there where he can bloody hear ya."

Rodney drummed his fingers on the bed rail, staring intently at John. " Well?"

John wiped his mouth and nodded, until Beckett stepped forward and pushed the plate of toast toward him.

" Actually, John, I think that would be a no."

John eyed the toast, wanting it, but wanting even more to move about beyond his current confines. Rodney solved his dilemma by taking the plate and holding it. " He can eat it along the way. Just get him showered, get him dressed, but most importantly, get him showered because I'm not walking around with a man who smells like the infirmary."

Carson lowered the rails to let John get out of bed on his own. There was still effort to it as he slipped his legs from beneath the blankets to plant bare feet on the cold floor. He was slow to stand, and grabbed Carson's shoulder to steady himself until the blood stopped rushing to his head, making shadows pulse in his vision. He twitched his head to clear it, locked his knees, and took the clothes Carson handed to him.

With a quick pat on the shoulder, Carson escorted John to the bathroom, having him put plastic over the cast, but gave John free reign beyond there, waiting outside as John recalled how to work the Atlantis showers.

John stood there, hugging the clothes to his chest, feeling his heart pounding through them against his arm. He had to strip, go naked, and the thought was making his stomach recoil without reason. He set his clothes aside on a rail, and with a quick glance over his shoulder to assure himself that he was alone, began the slow and arduous process of removing the scrubs.

Through the growing discomfort of it, it struck him as odd. He'd undressed before. Then again, he'd been back in new clothes immediately after. Having to remain in the buff far longer was making his heart pulverize itself on his sternum. He only had the scrub shirt off and he was already cringing with back curved and muscles quaking. He was having second thoughts. So he wasn't smelling like roses, who really gave a crap? A shower could wait...

Except that Carson probably wouldn't let him leave until it happened.

He contemplated leaving the boxers on. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if he wasn't completely naked. Except he would have to remove them eventually anyway...

A knock on the door made him jump.

" You all right in there, Colonel?" came Carson's voice. " I don't hear the water goin'. Ya need any help?"

John gulped, shook his head, realized the futility of the action, and sounded out a small, hoarse no.

" All right. But you tell me if ya do."

" Y-yeah..." John replied, shuddering, feeling horrible cold oozing from his core to coat his skin. The hot shower would fix that, he knew. Spiting this odd new phobia of his, he finished undressing and quickly stepped into the shower as though someone might walk in and see him at any moment. Like with just about everything else in Atlantis, the showers could be activated by panels or thought alone. John thought them on, and the sudden assault of the heated spray took him by surprise. He jerked back, spine hitting the wall, heart hitting his ribs, and legs giving out on him, slowly lowering him to the floor to pack himself into the corner as the tepid water beat on him. He covered his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

Bad idea.

It was different, of course it was different, warm and gentle. But his brain didn't care.

They'd called it... decontamination. A stone room, gray as slate and cold as... as... a glacier, a glacier in Antarctica. Water ripped from large hoses, direct spray white foamed with pressure that was flaying John alive. It pressed him to the wall, to the floor, pummeling like a stream of fists and pushing like unrelenting hands against broken ribs, a broken arm, and a bruised spine. John sacrificed his hands to protect his head, ducked his chin to his chest to protect his throat, screamed and begged for them to stop. But they couldn't, because John was an alien, filthy, crawling with alien diseases. It was decontamination and everyone had to go through it before being taken to a room.

A cell.

He was going to prison.

The hoses stopped, the pressure eased away. John's body felt like it had survived a ten man beating. He couldn't move even with terror and fury shrieking at him to get off the floor and return the favor of pain to these bastards. He opened his eyes and that was as far as he got. He was involuntarily inclined to lay there and watch water ribboned with blood slip down the rust-grated drain, fluid gurgling and choking away like the death rasp of a beast. Blood and water ran from him in rivulets, dripped from him like the last remnants of rain, soaked in the cold to aid the pain until his whole body shook.

But this was different. It was warm. It was gentle. With one hand against the smooth wall of the shower, John rose back onto quaking legs, breathing fast with back still curved in a cringe. His hands were shaking, but he couldn't help that, just like he couldn't help the way his heart hammered relentlessly. He grabbed the soap with one hand and washed, wincing when he came to the wounds on his back, the lingering bruises, the still tender ribs that sickened him to feel – like the bars of a cage. He swallowed back bile and kept his mouth clamped shut, not even allowing himself the luxury of a pathetic whimper. He would get through one stupid shower, recollections and pain be damned.

He washed his hair, rinsed, stepped out, and dried off as fast as he could, dressing even faster and ripping the plastic off the cast.

It was indescribable; being clean, being dressed. Water continued to drip from his hair to soak the collar of his shirt and the back, but he didn't care. He sat on the floor to pull on his socks and boots, then just sat, resting with arms over his upturned knees.

Another knock at the door, another jump, and Carson's voice sounded.

" Colonel?"

John ran his hand back and forth through his wet hair that flicked out misty sprays of water, and sighed. He felt drained, like he could sleep the whole day and the night through. But he wanted out, wanted to recall better things than what his wayward mind was having him deal with. There were happier places he needed to visit along memory lane.

" I'm good," he called, and forced himself with a grunt to his feet, reaching out to the wall to steady himself on gelatinous legs. His shirt hung extra loose from him, and his belt had to have an extra hole put in to keep his pants up. He was decrepit, weak, and it was only now just hitting him. He'd known, always had, of his appearance, but there was a fine line between being aware and knowing full on. It was an emotion thing, and one pretty easy to ignore when pain was ripping through a mind too busy being torn to shreds to care about looking the opposite of healthy.

He cared now, so lingered until Carson knocked again.

" You're gonna give Rodney an aneurysm if ya take much longer, lad. Best hurry it up."

John grinned when he heard McKay's reply.

" Seriously, what if he fell or something? Just open the door. You're the doctor and it's not like there's anything you haven't seen."

" I may be the doctor, Rodney, but the man has a right to maintainin' his dignity. Colonel?" Carson was starting to sound worried. John shoved abashment over his physical situation to the back of his mind enough to open the door and step out.

Rodney threw his hands up. " About time! Come on, let's go. Oh, and you may not want your toast anymore. I think it's grown some kind of Atlantean mold."

Carson rolled his eyes. " It's fine, Rodney. And you can go now. Just make sure the Colonel eats lunch and doesn't get overwhelmed. And be nice."

Rodney started in shocked offense. " I am nice!" He looked at John pleadingly. " I've been nice to you, haven't I?"

" I meant to everyone, Rodney."

Rodney took the toast from the plate and handed the plate to Carson, and the toast to John. " I make no promises what so ever." Then headed out. John followed, finishing off the toast.

Rodney led the way and John shadowed him without a word. He remembered wanting to go somewhere, just couldn't recall where exactly. With the toast gone, John was able to shove his hands into his pockets. They passed people – faces – some wholly familiar, some barely, and some he didn't recognize at all. They either nodded or spoke greetings, with the soldiers saluting John. He nodded and saluted back since that's what he was supposed to do. Acting the part of polite, even wringing out a smile that was as pathetic as he felt.

He was a wretched... _thing_ , just asking – no, begging – for pity Maybe people didn't notice, maybe they were just good at not showing that they noticed, playing polite in return. What did it really matter in the long run? John could regain what he'd lost, and it wouldn't be the first time. Yet shows of weakness were dangerous. People liked to use them, act on them while they could... laugh at them. And there were so many faces looking at him, noticing without seeming to.

But these were _his_ people. They wouldn't do that. Well, some might, the ones that didn't like him. Would they? What would they do? How would they act? _When_ would they act? Matter of time, only a matter of...

John twitched his head and scowled. _No!_ No one on Atlantis would do that. This was Atlantis, his people, and they would never do that...

His heart was beating hard, and he wondered if it ever slowed. He played the polite part well until he felt the facade try to slip when his body started up a non-stop bout of shivering. Rodney was saying something, and John hadn't heard a word.

They veered toward a door, and the tension started to drain from John's muscles. A thick barrier between him and the faces. Then they walked in, tension snapped back, having him go rock rigid, at the sight of devices scattered like debris over tables, some even gathered in boxes broken and gutted. John's jaw dropped, his eyes went wide, and his heart shrank and shriveled to a prune in his chest.

" It isn't the rec room," Rodney said, heading toward the counter where his lap-top sat. " But when you've got work to do, you've got work to do. But I promise we'll head over for a little movie time, maybe even watch that football video of yours, see if that doesn't jog a few memories."

Rodney glanced over his shoulder at John and stilled. " Sheppard?"

John wanted to turn and run, and he probably would have on pure instinct if Rodney hadn't said his name. Rodney; who John knew to trust – or was supposed to trust – like with Carson. Rodney wouldn't hurt him. So why was he here? Duh, right, Rodney's domain, his personal dungeon, his fortress of solitude, and on and on. But why had Rodney brought him? Work. Something about work. John couldn't remember, or maybe hadn't been listening. What work? What kind? Why was he needed? Was he needed? _What the hell was going on!_

Rodney's eyes went round as the mess hall dinner plates when John's breath started coming faster.

" Oh crap!" Rodney yelped, and hurried over to John. He took him by the shoulders and gently guided him from the room.

" Sheppard – uh, John – look at me."

John did when the lab doors slid shut and the devices were out of sight, even if they weren't out of mind.

Rodney looked panicked, and that raised John's fear another two degrees.

" Listen, we're only here because I need to check something. Real quick, I swear. No touching anything, no activation. The only thing I'm asking is for a little patience to do this one thing, should only take a second. You know what? You can even wait out here, not long, like I said. Then we'll go to the rec room, or the mess hall – where ever you want. I just gotta do this _one thing_ to make sure we don't get locked in some dark hallway that has you wandering off again. All right?"

John wanted to deck himself. He was being ridiculous. Of course Rodney hadn't brought him in to light up ancient contraptions that could very well blow them into next century. Why had he even thought that?

 _Because that's normally the only reason he brings you to the lab._ Logic really wasn't playing to John's side. But it didn't matter. Rodney said no gadgets, and John was going to believe him against his own will. He nodded. Rodney visibly relaxed and patted John's shoulder.

" Good, great, lovely, excellent." He then turned and headed back in, John following, spiting his fear, his memories – pretty much himself. He was in control. He only wished he had better control over his heart to keep it from pounding so viciously.

Rodney shot a quick glance back over his shoulder and stumbled, turning. " Colonel! I thought you were going to wait outside?"

John shook his head. " I'm fine."

Rodney, nervous, going a smidgen pale, swallowed. " Um... You sure – about that? Seriously, only a second. You don't have to be in here..."

" I'm fine," John said again, eyes roving over devices and his heart making it difficult to keep his breaths steady.

Rodney eyed John, then sagged, sighing heavily. " Carson's going to kill me. All right, come here then." He took John by the bicep and carefully pulled him to the table with the lap-top. He pulled up a stool and pointed at it. " Sit."

John dropped onto it. Rodney turned his attention to the little computer and began clacking away.

John had never realized how much he enjoyed that sound. The clacking, no need to activate anything – it wasn't so bad now. He looked at each of the dormant items

Was it safe now to activate them? Must not have been, or Rodney would have asked him to. But he was on Atlantis where activation was necessary.

" Is it safe?" John asked.

Rodney kept clacking, fingers dancing, and eyes squinting at the screen. " Huh? Safe? Is what safe?"

" To activate."

Rodney leaned in close to the screen with the corners of his eyes creasing in a deeper squint. " Activate what?"

John blinked in surprise. Rodney was supposed to know this. He was supposed to know everything. " Uh... these – things..."

Rodney turned his head to give Sheppard a look as though he'd grown horns and a tail. " You want to activate this stuff?" Rodney's expression changed to suspicion, and he straightened, narrowing his eyes at John. " I thought you weren't up for it?"

John's mouth moved, problem was he didn't have the words to go with the motion. That wasn't what he'd been trying to get across. " I... uh... There was a reason..." Yes, the reason. McKay knew the reason, or should have known. " I wasn't supposed to because... because... I don't know why, I just wasn't supposed to. It wasn't safe or something. I wasn't supposed to activate, so I didn't, but... I can't remember why. There was a reason I just..."

McKay continued his questioning stare that got John squirming and looking away.

" Ooookaaaay... I said you don't have to activate anything, Sheppard. I've got my little ATA gene pal to help me out with that." He reached forward and picked up the nearest item. It took concentration that had his brow furrowed, but the object lit up, emitting a soft hum. John startled, and pointed a shaking finger at the thing.

" Sh-sh-should you be doing that? Is it – really safe?"

Rodney's 'Sheppard's acting like a freak' look returned. He swung his hand around, bringing the object in close.

" It's harmless, see? Totally safe..."

Rodney held the item out toward John, within reach. This was wrong, wasn't supposed to be happening, too soon. The reason... Rodney had forgotten the reason. He was doing what he wasn't supposed to, what John fought so hard never to do.

They were screwed.

" No!" John shouted, knocking the device from Rodney's hand while at the same time leaping from his seat so fast and trying to backpedal that he tripped over the stool, both him and it clattering to the floor, his back hitting the leg, inciting an onslaught of agony. He arched his back with a groan, and rolled onto his chest with eyes squeezed shut and mind whirling beyond his control.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. " Sheppard?"

John's eyes snapped open, his heart shot up into his throat, and the pain was forgotten when he scrambled to his hands and knees. In his maddened haste to rise, he faltered and fell back, hitting the wall of a counter. He yelped with more pain, and when a hand touched his arm he pulled himself together into a protective huddle, waiting for the vice grip that would rip him away and toss him sprawled to the floor. Then the switch would come tearing into his flesh, or that cold device tearing into his brain...

" Colonel?"

... except no one from that place ever called him that. John peeled his eyes open and looked into the taut and lined face of Rodney McKay.

Humiliation squeezed Sheppard's chest until he couldn't breathe. He'd done it again, like he had with Carson, and like he had during the lockdown.

He'd given into delusion, and it was laughing in his face.

John dropped his head onto his knees, and his arms at his side to hang limply. He moved his head back and forth with eyes tightly shut. " I'm sorry, Rodney," he breathed. " I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I am so freakin' sorry..."

" Why?"

John lifted his head enough to look at McKay, and exhaled a shuddering breath. " I'm a coward."

McKay's gaze darkened and his jaw clenched. " Like hell you are. Come on, get up." He took John by the arm and pulled. John complied, preoccupied with wondering if Rodney was mad, and what he'd done to make the physicist so upset. Halfway up, McKay righted the stool and guided John to it, urging him to sit. Rodney then grabbed the next nearest stool, dragged it over, and planted himself in it, facing John.

" Sheppard," he said. " Pay attention. You're confused. Your brain's been fried, your memories mashed, and none of it's settled down yet. At least that's how Kace makes it sound. But what it pretty much comes down to is that you've walked barefoot through hell, survived, and therefore have every right to a small panic attack now and then. Once your brain stops doing its trippy little nightmare dance, it probably won't be a problem anymore. Until then, it is a problem, one that isn't your fault. And that doesn't make you a coward."

Rodney looked down at his hands gripping his knees, and let out a long, slow breath. " I'm really not the comforting sort, you know?" He snorted. " What am I saying, of course you know. Or you will, eventually, again. Usually I'm the one being comforted – or told to suck it up or whatever." He returned to looking at John, locking his gaze. The anger was gone, replaced by something more placid, more... understanding. Or maybe John was just reading the expression wrong.

" I wasn't quick on the uptake, and I'm sorry for that. I wasn't getting you, what you were saying. The reason."

John perked. " The reason. What is it? Was it to keep them from using... the things?"

Rodney nodded. " Yeah, to keep them from using the things. Kind of an unspoken policy among us gene carriers; don't make the pretty, shiny Ancient toys even prettier and shinier for the strangers, or they'll never leave you alone. You activate one, get it to work, next thing you know they have a map of galaxies at their disposal or they're sending you at the forefront of battle wearing a personal shield and blasting everything away like it was a game of Centipede." Rodney exhaled another breath, this one sharper. " Kace told us about why that Harl guy did the things... he did... to you. And about how you didn't give in." Rodney looked back down and began rubbing his legs from thigh to knee, curling his fingers when he got to his knees. " Had I been there, I probably would have called you idiot, said what you were doing was stupid, urged you to light one little toy up just to get the goons to leave you alone for a few hours. But that would have been lil' 'ole selfish me talking. I don't like seeing people get hurt, especially if they can prevent it."

He clasped his hands together in his lap and looked back up. " But then that would have made me the idiot." He twitched a nervous, weak smile. " Because they would have kept on abusing you just to have you light up more. Or doing stuff to me. Did I ever tell you about what happened to me and Ronon on the Hive ship?"

John twitched in alarm at that. " Y-you were on a hive ship?"

Rodney creased his brow. " Yeah, don't you remember? You were there, kind of. Not on the Hive ship, you just knew we were on there."

John started to recall. Hive ships with hyperdrives, about to take off, still with Ronon and Rodney. After that, John's brain automatically shut the memory down, though he didn't know why.

" I remember..." he said. " Yeah... I remember."

Rodney nodded. " Thought you would. Remind me to tell you about it some time. I will say this – me and you – we could probably head a support group for torture victims. I had the brains, the knowledge, they wanted it, I fought, and of course they had to hit the soft spot by doing crap to Ronon. Or were about to when Ronon grabbed the nearest stunner and brought hell to the wraith. Long story, so again remind me later to tell it."

John doubted he would remember, but would try. He wanted to know.

" The thing is – or you might say – thanks to my crap-hole adventure on Elm Street with a butt-load of Freddy clones, I can't hold it against you for holding back, even if I thought it would have prevented pain. Which, I now know, it wouldn't have, only increased it. Cowards don't hold back, John. They give in as soon as they can, reasons be damned. You did what was right, what you needed to do, so no way in hell are you a coward, so don't you _dare_ call yourself one. Or weak, don't you dare call yourself weak. Or a failure. Derogatory terms are my field of expertise. Speaking of which, I'd – um - also like to apologize for all those times I bad mouthed you for wanting to sacrifice yourself all the time. Because doing so has officially made me a hypocrite. I'm just as idiotic as you it seems, which proves my point of you being a bad influence on us all."

John felt every muscle loosening, his shoulders sagging, his body slumping with pure relief. " So... there was... a reason?"

Rodney nodded. " Yes. You did good Sheppard."

John smiled. He had been right, and the effort had been worth it. " It's safe now?"

" Yeah, it's safe. But you still don't have to light anything up. Let me finish this, then we'll head to the rec room, kick back, and celebrate by putting a little meat on your bones with popcorn, sodas, and ice-cream. Well, maybe just popcorn, can't push it with you. Oh, and get some ice for your back." Rodney winced. " How is it?"

" Better," John replied. True, in a way. It didn't hurt, just throbbed uncomfortably.

Rodney grimaced. " Beckett is so going to kill me."

SGA

Talk about a vacation. Habitual caution nagged at Kace to keep his mind open to the empathic ambient, but he was getting conditioned to being around people that harbored no real opinions toward him, negative or positive. Mistrust was minimized compared to what Kace was used to, and though rumor had spread of there being a telepath in the city, no one ever directly acknowledged him as being that telepath. It seemed they were quite used to having foreign folk in simple clothes wandering about – namely Teyla's people, which most assumed Kace to be one of.

Mistrust still lingered, here and there, mostly from Ronon and that Caldwell man. Other than that, he was just another soul flowing in a sea of minds only he was aware of. So he allowed himself to lower his own guard, focus on the outward instead of what went on inside, and only falling back into routine when emotions of any kind became strong enough to create ripples too big to ignore. Even then, he would catch the ripples out of curiosity, but not enter any minds to satiate that curiosity.

Kace had also been getting the best sleep he'd ever had, without having to resort to sleeping outdoors on a hard ground miles away from a city. He knew, without a doubt now, that he was safe in this city. No deep intrigues, no devious plots, and no interest in trying to keep the solitary mind reader sticking around. Small consideration involving convincing him, maybe, but these people weren't about sacrificing what was right just to have a better tactical advantage. They weren't going to force a man to do anything against his will.

If Kace wasn't careful, he might end up taking permanent residence. Except that wandering was in his blood. He gave himself another week tops before the need to set his feet back on the road went from an itch to a rash. He'd tried the settling down in one place thing before. No matter how nice that place – how safe – the road had a loud call that Kace couldn't ignore.

Which was why he wandered the city so much, with no particular direction, just to see where his feet took him and what he discovered along the way. Part of the charm of being a wanderer was the discoveries made. He'd been to so many worlds, the galaxy might as well have been one big planet in itself.

He contemplated trekking this planet's continent. World of the Ancients – had to be something to discover here.

His feet brought him past the room with the moving picture screen. He cast a glance inside on catching the familiar aura of vague confusion rolling out like a draft. He slowed on seeing Sheppard sitting on the long, cushioned chair with legs drawn up and casted hand resting on his knees. His other hand was preoccupied squeezing a clear bag of water and tiny ice-chunks. He was staring at it without seeing it, turned in to his thoughts. Kace back stepped to lean against the entrance, and did a quick scan of Sheppard's thoughts.

Very unpleasant. Devices, lashes, and that horrid decontamination made even worse by broken bones and bleeding wounds. The images interchanged, but lingered, going back and forth between each. In decontamination, Sheppard was still lean, fit, so he'd just arrived to the prison.

Sometimes – in the name of sanitation – the guards would pull another mandatory decontamination. Remembrance of it led Sheppard to those as well, and Kace watched the successive decline of Sheppard's body. It made Kace queasy, so he backed his brain out. But the images of thin skin rubbed raw to bleeding were branded forever into his head.

Kace pushed off from where he was leaning and walked in. He plopped down beside Sheppard and stared at the screen depicting some sort of odd battle with two armies poised for attack, tossing some sort of oddly shaped ball, then attacking, wrestling, and tossing men aside all to make a grab for that weird ball. Fascinating, really, because whenever a man fell, he got right back up again. So it couldn't be called a contest of death, more like a contest of strength.

Nausea, anger, confusion, and fear throbbed around Sheppard, brushing along Kace's own conscious. Kace stretched out his legs to cross one ankle over the other.

" There's nothing to figure out, Shep," he said. " Selfish men do cruel things to get what they want. The only thing you did wrong was exist at the wrong place and at the wrong time."

The bag sloshed, the ice swirling around like debris caught beneath the rapids. " I know."

Kace didn't doubt that. " But you're still trying to figure it out. Word to the wise, Shep – don't. Don't ever try to figure out men like Harl or that bug-brain Gorek. You'll never figure 'em. They're your opposite, Shep. And they aren't worth understanding."

Sheppard dropped the bag onto the chair to free his hand and begin rubbing the side of his head, ear to crown. The nausea increased until his body started shuddering. " I can't stop thinking about it," he said, and gulped. " It won't get out of my head. Why won't it get out?" An agitation he'd been fighting to keep back spilled into him like a deluge. He kept attempting to change the subject of his thoughts, but they always tipped back to the recently recovered memories of torture.

Kace sighed. " Because you're recalling. I've always noticed it's the thoughts we fight to get rid of that stick around the most. I'd like to say that once that stuff's out, it's out for good, except that it isn't. You won't be forgetting it again, and there'll be more to come. You just have to remind yourself that it's over. You're home, you're safe... Then you need to distract yourself, push other thoughts into your mind. It shouldn't be too bad if you can do that."

Sheppard nodded, still rubbing his head, shuddering, and very prepared to jump out his skin thanks to ragged nerves and a pounding heart.

" Where's Doc McKay?" Kace asked. This hadn't been a good time to leave Sheppard alone, though Kace was the only one to understand that.

" Getting food."

Kace nodded. " Good. No offense, Shep, but you really need it."

Sheppard dropped his head onto his knees. He inhaled deep, and exhaled sharp with another shudder. " I don't want to remember anything else. Not what Harl did... to me. I can still feel what it was like... sometimes. It makes my skin itch and... it makes me ache." Anger flowed from him like desert heat. " It makes me want to kill Harl. With every memory, every time it pops in my head, all I want to do is go back and ram that – _thing –_ into his own skull, let him know what it's like, then put a bullet in his brain. But he's not good enough for a fast death. It has to be slow. It's gotta hurt worse than it's hurt for me. Except... I'm not like that. I don't really do the revenge thing. If it ever came down to it, I'd beat the hell out of him to my heart's content, but I'd never shoot him. Not unless he tried to shoot me first."

Kace smiled. " You're not a cold blooded killer."

" I don't like to kill..."

" You like to defend. Save lives. Don't like seeing bad things happen to folks. I couldn't read your mind thanks to that scrambler, but I got at least that much from you. I always knew you were a good guy, and didn't deserve what was being done. And you didn't deserve it. But the way I figure it, Harl will probably be his own undoing. I've seen what's in that man's head, and even as we speak he's digging his own grave. It's only a matter of time before someone tosses him into it."

" That's not enough."

" But it's going to have to be. Am I right?"

Sheppard nodded. " I don't do revenge." He then raised his head to look directly at Kace. " I never thanked you for helping me."

Kace shrugged with indifference. " Eh. It was implied. You've had pretty strong gratitude vibes pouring off you like a rain storm every time you've looked at me. So no real reason to say it out loud."

Now it was Sheppard lifting his shoulder with nonchalance. " It should still be said. I'd be dead if you hadn't taken me with you." He returned his gaze to the screen, but not his attention.

Kace held back on looking into Sheppard's mind and beating him to his own thoughts. Sheppard needed to speak and find his own voice. For some, speaking out loud had a way of clearing the head, putting chaotic thought into a semblance of order until true order was obtained.

" Why did you?"

Kace smirked. He didn't even have to read Sheppard's mind to see that question coming. What was surprising was the intent behind the question – pure, natural, curiosity, unmarred by the suspicion that Kace wanted something in return. The scrambler really did have a way of whittling the brain down to an almost child-like state.

Kace chuckled. " I've probably told you this more times than even I can recall – so don't hold it against you that you can't recall yourself. I liked you, Shep. Still do. I admired your tenacity, your stubborness, and the fact that you didn't try to kill me the day I got shoved into your cell. Terrified and ready for a fight as you were, you kept your peace, and I was able to keep mine."

Sheppard squinted, remembering and remembering hard. It almost looked painful, and it was, creating a throbbing in his skull as he forced his own head to cooperate and pull a memory out of the chaotic muck.

" I remember..." He practically ripped the memory from himself, and winced for it. " Something you said... about... suffering. About – being in it... together?"

Kace all out laughed at that, rocking back and lifting his leg to slap his knee. Sheppard observed it in wary confusion, and Kace caught the sense that Sheppard had thought he'd said something wrong – or embarrassing.

Kace patted the air. " No, no, no... it's not you. I just thought... Just thought you'd never remember any of that." Kace wiped his eyes when the laughter settled down. " But, no, you're right. My mom's fault. She was a shining example and bad influence rolled into one. Shep, I'm not a man who feels there needs to be a reason for everything. I do what I do, half the time not wanting to explain, the other half not getting it myself. I mean you of all people should get that. You go by reasons, but it's simple for you – right versus wrong, and going for what's right. But the bigger difference between me and you is that you acknowledge it. You do what's right because it's right, and that's reason enough. While I go all cryptic. But deep down inside I'm probably going by the same reasoning. Therefore, I guess you could say since I'm too stubborn too, that I helped you because it was the right thing to do."

Kace's answer siphoned from John floods of mental turmoil, and he actually smiled.

" I'm guessing," Kace said, " No, I'm _certain_ you would have done the same for me."

Sheppard chuckled softly. " As long as you didn't try to kill me, rob me, or back stab me, probably."

" Actually I probably would have blackmailed you into taking me or something. I don't take chances. You were easy to trust being so messed up in the head and all."

Kace caught McKay's rambling mind before the scientist even walked through the door, carrying two trays in both hands. Sheppard snapped his head around and unfolded himself to plant his feet on the floor and sit back.

" You wouldn't believe what they're calling this garbage," he said, handing the tray to Sheppard. " Tuna noodle casserole. Looks more like something my cat would puke up."

Kace blanched at the image in Rodney's head. " Lovely simile, Doc McKay. Makes me glad I already had a meal."

McKay gave him a dark and withering glare. " What did I say about personal mental space and invading it?"

Kace lifted both hands innocently. " Sorry. That image was a practical shout and I couldn't resist."

McKay settled himself down between Sheppard and Kace, picking up his fork to mix the casserole around. With it were those long green vegetables, a bowl of even more vegetables with that creamy stuff called salad dressing, another bowl of fruits, and a bottle of water. Sheppard was dining on the same, but with water and some sort of thick, pink substance.

McKay looked up at the screen and slouched. " This is still on? I thought it'd be long over by now. Or maybe I was just wishing so hard I thought it might actually come true. I should have hid the thing while Sheppard was still out of it."

Now it was Sheppard doing the withering look directed at McKay.

Kace gestured to the moving pictures. " So what is it, anyways? Some sort of gladiator competition? A neat and tidy way to do battle?"

McKay took a sip of water before speaking. " It's called football. It's a sport on our planet."

" Sport. Like a game?"

" Exactly, one of the more popular forms of recreation – watched and played."

Kace nodded in sudden understanding. It explained why no one was being killed. " Kind of brutal for being nothing more than a game, but then again I've seen worse."

McKay pointed at the screen with the hand holding the bottle. " You think this is bad? You should check out hockey."

SGA

A/N: Coming soon... Action! _Killer Umbrellas! Exquisite. –_ Homer Simpson.

No, I said action, not killer umbrellas. Although... No! No killer umbrellas... yet. Doh!


	16. Good Stuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The muses have brought treats. Enjoy. Just don't eat anything that moves.

A/N: The muses have brought treats. Enjoy. Just don't eat anything that moves.

  
**16**   


Sandpaper rough wind whipped the tent flaps in a whip-loud frenzy capable of leaving bloody marks on unsuspecting flesh. It was a moaning wind, low and fluting that lifted sand from the ground in streams like spray off wave caps. Spray turned to dust devils that pulled a constant phoenix of living, dieing, and being reborn. Dust veiled the sky and the blazing white sun that dropped heat like a hand restraining the earth until even the air burned just to breathe. The inescapable light created pools of solid shadows with sharp edges marred only by uneven ground.

John raised his hand to shield his eyes from the stinging spray and white-washed glare that left dark spots flecking his vision. Sand crunched and scraped beneath his boots above the monotonous moan. He felt the heat being absorbed by his skin, sweat slicking him in a single, slippery coat gluing his shirt to his body, the resistance of the wind against his chest and limbs – but not the discomfort of it all. His body was more like a cheap suit he was barely aware of except in a secondary sort of way. Outside sensations went at far as his skin, but not his core. Inside, the temperature was average, and nothing could touch him. The light made his eyes spot up, but the headache that usually accompanied the spots wouldn't manifest.

John ducked his head on slipping through the psychotic tent flaps, angling his body through the gap to avoid the rebound. Inside, heat was a quieter presence, and the wind bulged against the lengthy tent walls in trying to pummel them with sand and sheer force. Bunks lined the walls, made army style that had neat-freak obsessive compulsives slobbering jealous. Footlockers were open, ready to receive, but the only physical presences were the two chuckling grunts sitting on the center most bunk, using a footlocker as a table and leaning in with arms on knees toward a laptop flickering multicolored hues on their faces.

John saw all this in a moment without the agonizing wait of his eyes adjusting to the gloom. Mitch and Dex hadn't noticed him yet, not that John expected them to. Once that laptop was open, bombings could commence and they'd still be stuck to it like comatose patients with their eyes open. Plenty did the bootlegging of DVDs – purchased, copied, downloaded or whatever - but it was Mitch and Dex that bootlegged the means to watch them. Anything was fair game; movies, family videos, occasional porn. John jumped on the movies, but avoided the porn. Didn't trust the stuff. Contrary to popular belief, not all men indulged in it. There was a possibility of addiction to it that John had been witness to in his uncle who thrived on booze, porn, strip clubs, and one night stands. Happy go lucky uncle Sid with his raunchy jokes and foul breath had worn happiness like a toupee; unconvincing and unpleasant to look at.

The toupee blew off the day he shot himself. What was with his family and giving up? Never being like Sid had been an easy vow to make, and part of that endeavor had been to avoid porn of any kind. Sid had given into sex more than he had the alcohol.

Giving in. His family gave up because they gave in. Endeavor two – never give up, never give in. McKay called it idiot optimism, John called it survival.

John moved toward his old buddies with steps that became hesitant the closer he came. Above the moan and clatter of sand against the tent walls was the jumbled cacophony of the two men's recent entertainment. Dex was the first to look up, and the sudden attention halted John.

" Shep! Buddy! What took you so freakin' long? Get over here, man, you gotta see this."

John's heart thudded – on the inside, not the outside, so he couldn't detach himself from the suffocating feel of it. He swallowed and pasted on his crooked grin of everything being a-okay in the world. Dex and Mitch, no matter their swearing on their lives and people's grave that they knew him, had never been able to see through his various smiles, smirks, and grins.

" What is it?" he asked. His body had wrested control from him, and he couldn't even so much as twitch a finger.

Dex waved him over. " C'mere and see, man. You're gonna love it, I swear."

Mitch's laughter came out in snorts, ending suddenly when his mouth went wide and his hand shot to it.

" Oh! That had to freakin' hurt. Dude, Sheppard, you've gotta check this out. It's too awesome."

John stuck his hands in his pockets like some awkward green private, suddenly shy at the attention of the seasoned soldiers, flattered that they wanted him to join in, but wary concerning what they might be up to in the long run.

Inside, John simply didn't want to see what they were seeing. Dex didn't give him the choice when he rose, speed walked to John, and grabbed him by both shoulders to shove him toward the laptop. John stumbled only to be caught by Dex and pushed to stand before the footlocker.

 _A space movie_? Not likely, because something about the agile, whining ship was painfully familiar to have John's head throbbing and neck muscles pulling tight enough to rip. The distraction made him unaware that Dex had shoved him into sitting on the edge of the bunk. The ship was moving fast after the bigger ships, then...

John turned his head but not before catching the flash of an explosion or something like it. The light of it stabbed John's eyes and drilled into his brain. He winced and hissed from the pain, shrinking in a cringe against phantom agony. The light lingered, so he closed his eyes, and in the darkness of the lids felt the vibration of a ship resisting a powerful pull, a hammering heart, pulsating lungs, then heard the distant echoe of a scream of terror and pain.

Mitch and Dex cried out.

" Ooohhh!"

Mitch laughed but Dex spoke.

" Oh, that was bad, did you see that man! Shep? Hey, earth to Johnny!"

Hands pressed against the sides of his head and forced it to turn, then thumbs pressed against his eyes, pulling the lids up. John gasped. The scream had come from the screen, just the screen, but with a force that made John's own throat hurt. A plummeting ship blazing in the sunset-halo of burning atmosphere. The ship shuddered, vibrated, screeched and buckled. Where was the pilot? In the mind; they were seeing through his eyes, over the lighted console and out the cockpit glass. What they saw was the flames pulling away, and green/brown mottled earth coming up fast to meet them. John breathed faster and faster as the ship drew closer and closer. Dex didn't need to hold his eyes open anymore the way they went round. John's heart beat too fast for his inhuman breathing that produced whimpering sounds on each shallow exhale.

Faster, faster, faster, it all went faster.

" No no no no no no no," sounded within the whimpering. John tried to pull away but Dex had a firm hold on his head, and Mitch on his shoulder. They laughed a laugh so out of place it sounded cruel – which it was. They were freakin' enjoying this! But hadn't they laughed in the infirmary when he was holed up with busted bones from a nasty emergency landing? They'd been trying to make him feel better, as though nearly having his neck snapped wasn't such a big deal. It only worked thanks to John's desperation to forget what had happened. In truth, they had always sucked at the comfort thing. Even McKay had a better bedside manner than them.

The ground rushed up, the ship rushed down. John's breathing stopped on the deepest inhale he could pull with spine arched and hands scrambling to pull Dex's hands away.

" No," he moaned, trembling, begging, and sobbing.

Impact. John felt it jarring his body, rattling and wrenching his bones, tossing him around like a rag doll crushed in a toddler's fist. The screaming was too loud to be from the screen, and when John's throat burned, he realized it was his own. It hurt, it impossibly hurt just to watch, projecting too much pain. He felt his head yanked back to be pressed against a solid surface covered by cloth – Dex's shoulder, with Dex's hands moving to the back of his head as well as his back.

" Easy, man, easy. It's all right. Just breathe, man, take a deep breath..."

John gasped burning air into a raw throat and rapidly blinked his eyes leaking a deluge of tears. Dex continued to hold on. So did Mitch by the shoulders, giving reassuring squeezes. There was no sense of embarrassment in the act. The oddity of Dex and Mitch doing the comfort thing wasn't lost on John, he just didn't care.

" Real sorry about this man," said Mitch. " But you've gotta see this. I know you don't want to, but you really don't have a choice. Come on, Johnny, just turn your head and look, real quick. Shouldn't be much longer. The worst part's over."

 _Wrong!_ John shook his head. " It's just beginning."

Dex patted his back that made John's body sound hollow. " True, but that's come and gone, dude. Nothin' but bits and pieces that don't matter. But this..." He pushed against John until he was back to sitting on his own, then grabbed his head to force it back to the screen. John swallowed, cringed and shuddered.

" _This_ is the good stuff."

Motion had stopped, dust was settling, and time sped up as bright day faded into thick, starry night visible through skeletal trees. Night phased from black to blue to ocean gray, and the unseen clock slowed. Human forms, dark and featureless as ink blots, moved outside the cockpit with the slow caution of the spooked.

" Speed it up, man," Mitch said. " This takes forever."

Time resumed its speed-demon motion, and the forms darted about the dead ship as gray turned gold to reveal details to the forms that were frightening John. When time went back to its normal crawl, the forms were gathered like vultures at the cockpit and doing something that popped the seal with a hiss. It was lifted away, the forms swarmed around the pilot, and John shrank back.

Close proximity revealed the faces that had John's heart lurching like a piece of steak being tenderized on his bones. Gorek – thinking the name made his stomach clench. The other faces had no names he recalled, unless he couldn't recall, or didn't want to. Gorek remained because Gorek had been the instigator of his misery from start to finish. The rest had become ghosts that had wandered his fragmented memories without importance – like extras in a movie, there to fill space and give the impression of a population. There was a dark haired man, blond man, big guy with silver hair shaved close to his skull. Silver hair and Gorek were reaching in with knives, cutting something, pulling, and the camera or vision or whatever it was jolted, lost focus, and went black. Pain ripped through John and he bit his lip to keep from screaming.

He failed, and screamed over Mitch and Dex's applause, throwing his head back.

" Good stuff, man," Mitch said.

Dex pointed to the blank screen. " Yeah, remember that. That was one for the ages, dude."

SGA

John's eyes flew open, but the rest of him remained immobile curled as small as his frame would allow beneath layers of blankets. Bolting upright had been completely impossible with muscles pulled so tight the strain made every inch of him hurt. The roar of blood in his ears could have shattered his eardrums, and he could almost discern the high rushing and furiously fast pulse of his heart. Beneath that to go echoing away the way dream residue will was the whooping sound of wild laughter, and a scream mixed with the shriek of twisting metal.

John knew better than to close his eyes. He didn't even blink until his eyes stung from lack of moisture. He focused on the shapes of the things in his quarters, mapping out their contours, then putting names to each. Kind of like doing equations or picturing ocean waves to calm down, tossing the mind a rope and reeling it in. It worked, eventually, when his muscles lost the strength to remain taut so slowly unknotted, and his heart eased out of its clamor, coaxing his breathing to come down with it. Turning his attention to breathing, he pulled air deep, then let it out slow, repeating the process until the lion roar of blood became a timid whisper. The shaking, however, refused to let up. Buried as he was under the mound of blankets, cold was radiating from the inside out like a leaking refrigerator.

It all added up to a minute, possibly less, John knew. But it didn't take all that much for John to wear out, and waking up terrified to the brink of physically snapping in half drained him like water through a colander. He squeezed his eyes shut just until the moment when images started up a lightning fast slide show. He reopened them, and simply lay there listening to the sound of his own breathing harsh and loud in the dark silence.

Then he was overcome by the trepidation of being alone.

He closed his eyes in a drawn out blink with breath released in a shudder. His brain was acting like a brat throwing a tantrum over Sheppard's increasing control. There was clarity and memories he brought up on his own accord just to spite himself, but he still suffered the sporadic mess of images popping into his mind like firecrackers – one after the other and ending just as abruptly as they had come. Minor annoyances for the most part, but did well at throwing him off, not to mention spooking the hell out of him on occasion.

Of course it didn't take unbidden memories to do that. Rabbits and mice had better self control. Kace had termed it emotional residue; memories of feelings fluttering in out of no where instead of visual memories. And it was mainly fear since fear had been so dominant during the scramble. Sheppard was an unintentional nervous wreck, but stemmed back the self loathing with the reminder that it would eventually fade like the bad memories.

He still couldn't recall his dreams except as fragments.

Even as he struggled against his emotions, solitude fought back by pressing harder to keep his heart skipping at an uncomfortably increased rate. Today was one of those days where he had no choice but to give in. On the plus side, they were getting farther and fewer between, and he wasn't whimpering like a three year old wanting his mommy. Focusing on his annoyance tended to help with that.

John threw the blankets back, shivering at the temperature change, and willed the lights on bit by bit like a rising sun until his eyes adjusted, sparing him the spike of a headache. He sat on the edge of his bed long enough to rub his face and run his fingers through his hair. Sleep hovered at the back of his mind like the voice of temptation that he pushed aside by shoving himself to his feet. He grabbed clothes, headed to the bathroom for a quick shower, and came out dressed in BDUs and a long sleeved shirt with hair spiked from lingering moisture. He pulled on socks, boots, headed to the door, and stopped to stand there.

It's been odd, the phobias he seemed to have developed that would hopefully dissipate soon. Sudden loud noises scared the hell out of him – especially shouting – and large groups of people made him nervous. But saints be praised, he was a stubborn man, or he'd never leave his quarters.

And he hated himself for it every time his heart slammed into jackhammering.

With a few deep breaths and calming thoughts involving oceans, fuzzy animals, and snow blowing off the drifts on Antarctica, Sheppard willed the door open and stepped out into civilization.

Lucky for him, civilization was in a mellow mood, and he didn't encounter anyone until he neared the infirmary, anyone being three people who didn't even glance his way. Sheppard entered the infirmary to be spotted by a nurse who nodded to him in greeting. Quickly formed routine kept her from saying anything. She went to fetch Beckett as John settled himself sitting on the edge of the nearest bed. Carson was fast to appear, wearing a lab coat with his stethoscope draped around his neck. He smiled at John in that bright way of his, always genuine as he was genuinely glad to see everyone, even Rodney on occasion.

" Mornin' to ya lad," he said.

John inclined his head. " Morning Doc."

" Ya no the drill, son. Let's have a look at ya."

John lifted up his shirt with his uncasted and bandage free hand. The casted arm he kept rested on his thigh. Beckett unwrapped John's chest, then placed stethoscope to ears for a quick listen at the heart and lungs. Following that came probing to the ribcage that had John more annoyed than pained. Beckett seemed fairly pleased by the checkup, and didn't even rebind John's chest. Carson then looked over the abrasions on John's wrist -well scabbed and several of the lesser cuts starting to fade. Finally – weigh in time, which seemed to make Carson's day.

Three pounds, John had gained what he considered to be three measly pounds. But Carson played the part of the optimistic one by reminding John to add those three to the other few pounds gained over the past couple of days. Yes, John was still underweight, but thankfully out of being categorized as emaciated.

" Aye, the increase in flesh isn't all that spectacular, but you should be pleased by the increase of muscle which is where most of the obtained fat has been goin'. You may be thin as a toothpick but you're gainin' your strength back at an excellent rate. Keep it up and you'll be runnin' with Ronon and stick fightin' with Teyla sooner than ya realize... after ya heal, of course."

John smiled, stepping backwards off the scale. " Of course."

Beckett nodded back as he jotted something down on a chart. " I don't expect ya to be anythin' but lean, lad. Your height and stamina won't allow for much else. We get to the point of more muscle and less visible skeleton, then I'll be satisfied. Now off with ya to get some breakfast. I hear they're servin' bacon today. Just don't go overboard about it or you'll regret it later."

" Will do doc."

John left the infirmary bolstered by Carson's pep talk but feeling no less self conscious. He headed to the mess at a fast walk only to slow on approach. The flow of people coming and going was constant. John joined that flow, melding seamlessly, and struck by the desire to be invisible. And it wasn't as though anyone was paying any real attention to him. It was the possibility of attention that had him nervous without an explanation why. Kind of like an instinct hammered into him over the years – more appropriately (and very probable to boot) weeks; i.e. weeks spent at Harl's. Harl's and goon squad's attention hadn't come cheap, and John's subconscious refused to drop the association.

John handled the discomfort by keeping his eyes to the floor like some timid, gawky teenager surrounded by the loud and obnoxious football team. He only looked up to grab a tray and to eye the selection of food. Sudden calls, bursts of laughter, and dropped utensils or trays had him jumping fit to have his skeleton detach from his skin. The real hard part came on completing the task of collecting his food, and having to look up to find a table. He was spared the long and uncomfortable search on hearing his name.

" Shep! Hey friend Shep, over here."

John turned to see Kace standing and waving him over to one of the outside tables. With a sigh and a sag of relief, John hurried over to join the telepath, with Ronon beside him. John set his tray down across from them.

" Thanks," John said. Kace plopped back down into his chair.

" You keep saying that, Shep, and I keep telling you," he leaned forward with one arm on the table and a grin on his face, " you think it a lot better than you say it. Words don't always get the emotions you want, you know? The thought really does count."

John smiled sheepishly. " And like I said, I'd still rather say it." He picked up his fork and went for the bacon before the waffles, stuffing a slice into his face but taking his time chewing to savor it.

" That's a fine food that bacon," Kace said. " In fact, me and Ronon here were just having a discussion on the better of your world's cuisine. Though we seem to have a difference of opinion over that cold, thick stuff... what's it called?"

" Milkshakes," Ronon replied, shoveling the last bit of his three waffle stack into his mouth.

" Yeah, milkshakes. I like the pink ones but he goes for the brown ones."

John grabbed the pink protein shake and lifted it. " I go either way. But I'm kind of leaning toward coconut."

Kace and Ronon exchanged cock-eyed looks, then turning them to Sheppard, spoke in unison.

" Coconut?"

" It's a fruit flavor," John said. " Coconut cream pie, Ronon. Remember?"

The runner's brow lifted. " Oh, yeah. That is good stuff."

John took another drink and nodded. " You don't really get 'em in milkshake form, though, but this other thing called a cream slush. Like a milkshake but with a lot more ice-cream and crushed ice."

" Whew! That's a lot of cold," Kace said. " You know... They got these critters on Moras that makes this milk-like stuff. If I could find something like your sugar and a freezer, I'd make the big coins selling shakes to the kiddies. Course that means I'd have to settle down. Doubt I could lug a giant cold box about."

Ronon finished off both his glass of juice and milk, then set them sideways on his now empty plate. " What's wrong with settling down?"

Kace turned to Ronon, regarding him, probably skimming his thoughts for deeper insight. " Can't argue with your logic. Atlantis is a great stopping point. But motions in my blood. Mine are a wandering people and we tend to get restless quick. Not that I'm not enjoying this little rest stop – probably the best I've had in years – but the itch is starting to grow and nice as this place is, I'll be wanting to head off soon."

Sheppard's mind stumbled over itself, and he was hit with a brief surge of fear. He had, to his chagrin and to Kace's knowledge, a kind of attachment to the telepath that didn't settle on simple friendship. Again, it all came down to association, and the association was that Kace equaled safety, understanding. The desire for Kace not to leave was humiliatingly childish in Sheppard's mind, like a little boy wanting to beg, pout, and cry until his favorite uncle finally relented and stayed. On a more mature level, John kept his mouth shut about it, and concentrated on simply harboring the hope that Kace would stay, because John really did consider him a friend – like one of his team.

If Kace had skimmed these thoughts, he didn't react upon them except to flick his eyes momentarily in John's direction. He was probably used to them by now. Besides, he would also be aware that John had no intentions of getting him to stay. Kace had done so much already, he owed John nothing. John was the one who owed him.

" How soon?" John settled on asking.

Kace shrugged. " Probably when I know your mind's settled. I worked too hard saving your hide, Shep. You put effort into a thing, then you've got no choice but to see it through or it'll haunt you for the rest of you life. And anyways, I've been contemplating trekking this mainland Ronon here's been telling me about."

" Sure it'd be safe?" John said. " We haven't even explored it all that much yet so it's not like we can say what's out there. Not even the Athosians."

Kace smirked and shrugged indifferently. " Water run, Shep. Every world I've been to always had a few nasty surprises. Me and Ronon here both agree it's doable. You've just got to know the tricks of the trade, like don't eat what the animals don't eat, and just because it's small, cute, and curious doesn't mean it's trying to make friends. Then there's my personal motto of 'eat it before it eats you'."

Ronon nodded sagely. " True, but I wouldn't agree to that concerning the wraith."

" Oh absolutely, not the wraith."

" Never the wraith."

John chuckled quietly. " But I bet their hair could make some good ropes."

Kace clapped his hands once then pointed at John. " Now you're catching on."

" Ever thought of going back to your home world?" Ronon asked.

At this, Kace's smile faltered, and his gaze fell to the table with one finger tracing invisible patterns on the surface. " Um... no, not really."

" Is it gone?"

Sheppard grimaced. Ronon's bluntness was all fine and dandy in shooting straight to the heart of the matter, but Sheppard always wondered if even the supposedly world wise Satedan had lines he didn't know he crossed.

But Kace, as usual, expressed no perturbation. He did, however, lose the struggle to maintain a smile, and let himself frown. " Let's put it this way, friend Ronon. Of all the planets I've been to... mine, by far, is the worst."

SGA

A soft tapping had Elizabeth looking up from mundane paper work and smiling at seeing John hovering at the doorway with his casted arm thumping against his thigh. He was smiling back at her like he always did when dropping by for whatever reason, though it lacked his usual buoyancy.

" John, come in," Elizabeth said.

A noise – someone dropping something or pounding on something – had John jumping and snapping his gaze over his shoulder. He was quick to recover his composure, including his smile, and entered the rest of the way into Weir's office to sit himself gingerly in one of the chairs.

" Hey Elizabeth," he sighed as he eased himself back against the seat rest. He looked a hell of a lot better today with his face bruise-free and his smile genuine rather than forced. He even appeared relaxed, and eased back into that state after another flinch when someone shouted to someone else. But it was the apparent mental control – his unhindered recognition of her and his old self comfortably dominant – that put her at ease. As far as she was concerned, he was back in full, leftover scrambler affects aside.

" How are you feeling today?" she asked.

" Awake."

" Good night's rest then?"

John shook his head. " Not really, but being able to sleep in makes up for it."

Elizabeth frowned at hearing this. " Nightmares?"

John lifted both hands palm up then dropped them. " Off and on."

Elizabeth sat back in her own chair, crossing her arms. " Anything in particular?"

John shrugged. " Most of the time just bad memories, the rest I don't remember. But they're not a constant so it's not like I'm being sleep deprived. Really, I feel great today. Beckett even took off the chest bandages and gave me the good news that I've gained three more pounds. So screw the dreams because I'm having a pretty good day whether my brain likes it or not. And it's not even lunch time yet."

Elizabeth went back to smiling. " Good day, huh? Well, that explains the grin. You do look better today, John."

" Glad I seem to be visually conveying it. Listen, Elizabeth, I've been thinking... about Kace..."

Elizabeth uncrossed her arms to lean forward with fingers laced together on the top of her desk. " Thinking about asking him to stick around? Really, John, we could use someone with his abilities helping us out."

John shook his head. " No, I wouldn't do that to him. He ever tell you about his home world?"

Weir furrowed her brow thoughtfully, and going on wary, since Sheppard's tone was hesitant, which always happened before he made some request he knew from the start that Elizabeth would have doubts about. " Not in detail, but I got the gist of it. Life isn't easy as a telepath."

" Well, he did give me the details." John scratched the side of his head. " And you'd think I wouldn't have remembered being told, but I guess it's kind of like a subliminal message – what goes in stays in. It's not just the wraith he has to deal with but these people that are kind of like slavers. They go in, grab a few, kill a few, then leave. And they got these devices or something that keeps the mind readers from doing their thing – or at least I think that's how Kace put it. Anyways, I was thinking..."

Elizabeth jumped in to keep Sheppard from finishing his train of thought. " John, if you're talking about engaging these 'slavers', you know I can't authorize that. We have enough enemies as it is and can't afford to be sucked into another war..."

John shook his head a little vehemently. " No, not a war. These slavers, they're not from Kace's world. Like I said, they pop in, take a few and leave. I'm not thinking battle royale here, I'm thinking prevention, keeping these creeps off his world."

Elizabeth continued to hold to caution, but was never closed to possible preventive measures, _if_ they could be pulled off without inciting bloody conflict – and in the Pegasus galaxy a misinterpreted hand gesture or poorly elicited swear word could buy enemies for life - both of which were reasons why Sheppard's team wasn't allowed back on three different planets.

" What do you have in mind?" Elizabeth asked.

John shifted to sit a little straighter. " Well, plenty of recon for starters, get some intel on these guys which Kace would probably do good enough to provide, then go from there. I'm not talking hasty here, Elizabeth. No going in with guns blazing. Since these slavers don't live on that world, all we really need is some slick plan to keep them from ever coming back. Claim the planet, seize the gate, something like that. It really is the least we can do, don't you think? If it can be pulled off without a hitch, I mean. Hell, we've got a nice big mainland. Maybe we could bring them over as a last resort. I'm pretty sure Teyla's people wouldn't mind having neighbors, especially the kind that move around too much to become any kind of a problem."

Elizabeth lifted her hands to rest her chin on her entwined fingers. " Well, for starters, I would definitely keep bringing another entirely new group of people over to this world a very, very dead last resort. Other than that, I don't see the harm in trying. You're right, it is the least we could do."

The very least. If Sheppard thought himself the only one who owed Kace, then he was deeply mistaken. Elizabeth's misgivings toward Kace had been short lived, and overridden by the desire to hug the man (which probably explained the telepaths occasional bouts of chuckling whenever eye contact was made). All of Atlantis was in Kace's debt, and the man brushed it aside as though saving Sheppard had been nothing more than all in a good day's work. Kace could decline receiving something in return for what he did all he wanted, it wasn't going to stop Atlantis from finding a way to give.

But what Kace had done, in Elizabeth's mind, could never be fully repaid, and that didn't seem right.

John's body shifted again, easing out of his stiff-spine posture to practically sink into the chair. " So it's a go then?"

" It's a go. We'll need to plot out a more formal plan, talk with Kace about it..."

The alarms erupted like the cries of an electronic dying whale that had John jerking in alarm so forcefully he slid from his seat. Elizabeth jumped from her own chair to hurry around her desk and help him up.

" You all right?" she shouted above the noise.

John, a little pale and a lot panting, nodded. " I've toppled out of worse." They both hurried from the office as the announcement of an unscheduled off-world activation sounded. They entered the control room in time to see the event horizon slam like a beating fist against the prismatic shield. The light of the event horizon rippled on the floor and off the walls like the bottom of the ocean. The only sound was the pulsing blare of the alarms until a tech announced receiving an IDC.

" Stackhouse's team," the tech said. Elizabeth looked to John.

" They're not scheduled to return for another five hours."

John reflected her worry. " Let's hope they just got really bored."

" Lower the shield," Elizabeth shouted.

The shield blinked off, the okay was sent, and seconds later a mud-stained young marine came staggering through, clutching his arm at the shoulder with blood blindingly vivid against the white hand. Elizabeth's heart dropped into her stomach, with her hand going the opposite direction to the radio at her ear.

" Medical team to the gate room, now!" She hurried from the control room to the floor with Sheppard already there, supporting the marine by the unwounded arm.

" We were ambushed," he said, clear even with his colorless face twisted in pain. " It's like they were waiting for us or something. Just walked right on out of the woods like they owned the place and surrounded us. We didn't even get a chance to fight back. Next thing we know, we're being marched to the gate. I guess 'cause I was the last in line, they pulled me aside to be the messenger. I thought you weren't supposed to shoot the damn messenger sir!"

The kid swayed drunkenly, and if it hadn't been for Sheppard's grip, would have toppled.

" Easy, Corporal," John soothed, " just take it easy. You'll be all right. The doc'll be here with the happy stuff and you won't even know the bullet was there."

The list of why John garnered respect with such ease was as long as he was tall, and one of the reasons was his lack of a 'suck it up soldier' attitude toward his men. No one was a faceless automaton with a verbal remote control in Sheppard's world.

The Corporal – Sanders it read on his vest – shook his head. " They're freakin' nuts, sir. They'll hold our guys unless we're willing to make a trade."

" What trade?" Elizabeth asked.

Beckett arrived then with med team following, hauling a gurney between them. With John's help, he eased Corporal Sanders onto the gurney, and tried to get him to lay back with pressure to his good shoulder. Halfway down, Sanders' blood-caked hand snapped from his wound the grab John's sleeve, clinging so tight his hand shook. He looked up at his CO, frightened, apologetic, and sad.

When Sanders spoke, it was in a broken voice. " They want you sir. They'll only let our guys go if they get you an exchange."

John didn't react except to visibly pale. Sanders released his death grip on his CO's sleeve and allowed himself to be eased into a prone position.

" I'm sorry sir," he said before being wheeled away.

SGA

A/N: I've recently completed the epilogue of this story, so whole thing's nice and done. Rest assured, my readers, you will _not_ be left hanging, unlike the readers of my CSI:NY story because I've hit a bit of a snafu in that one. So if you're also reading that one, please be patient until I'm able to straighten things out.


	17. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, no big action in this chapter, but I still enjoyed writing it. Smidgen of whump involved, so enjoy.

A/N: Okay, no big action in this chapter, but I still enjoyed writing it. Smidgen of whump involved, so enjoy.

  
**17**   


Corporal Sanders would be fine. The blood loss had Carson worried for a moment, but the kid's blood type was a common one, and his remaining awake and coherent had stemmed most of Carson's concern. Sanders managed to reiterate what happened off world before being prepped for surgery, and on finishing was wheeled away with assurances that he would be fine, and probably live to the ripe old age of having to endure being called Colonel Sanders.

Relief was short lived when it came down to having to deal with the matter at hand. Elizabeth called an emergency conference with everyone present say for Colonel Caldwell who'd departed back to earth yesterday on a supply run. Even Kace was present, and metaphorically speaking the guest of honor of this get together.

Elizabeth filled those not present at Sanders' sudden return on the situation, keeping it short and to the point.

" We need ideas, people," she said by way of ending the little terror tale. " Ideas centered around getting our people back without giving those bastards what they want." Uncharacteristic, yes, but Elizabeth didn't care. Her nerves were humming with controlled fury that had her mind wandering to images of herself beating the snot out of Harl, which in turn caused Kace to lighten up in a never-ending smirk of amusement. She was pissed beyond comprehension that these people would have the audacity to threaten so many just to reclaim a man they'd nearly killed with their brutality.

Like hell she would let them get away with it, and like hell she was going to let them think they could get their hands back on John for more of the same.

Glancing at John, he appeared calm. Not the laid back relaxed calm of the nonchalant, but the calm of one with the training to keep his emotions in check during bad situations. No fear, not even minor trepidation; just all business, absorbing info and assimilating it to use as the formula in forming plans. Every time Elizabeth looked at John, and eye contact was established, it was a meaningful look she hoped conveyed her unwavering stand that under no circumstances were they going to give John up to these creeps. She had yet to know if the look had any impact.

Elizabeth looked to Kace, ready to ask him if he remembered the layout of Harl's home, and to ask for input concerning security. She was thinking, to her own surprise, strictly in military terms of search and rescue. When Kace beat her to the punch before she could speak, what he said had her starting in alarm, and abashed that she hadn't thought on such terms sooner.

" Two words, Doc. Weir – Chief Commander."

Elizabeth's brow creased. " Excuse me?"

" Go speak with the chief Commander. He's sort of like..." he snapped his fingers a couple of times, then brightened, pointing at Elizabeth. " You, the leader, the supreme boss, the world-wide master. Plus I think supreme boss has a problem with his judgeship Harl."

Elizabeth felt her hopes rising in inches each time Kace spoke. " How so?"

Kace scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully before speaking. " Well – and mind you though I've gotten a good amount of glimpses into Harl's head, I've never been given the chance for a good sweep – the man's been scrounging up some pretty hefty plans against Chief Commander. From the bits I've gathered, it has something to do with Chief Commandership not liking chief Judgeship's status in riches and his lack of status in being an effective judge. In other words, there seems to be a chance Harl won't be a judge for much longer. Harl, however, isn't happy about it and has been looking for a way to keep that from happening. I think it may have started out as Harl wanting to impress Commander with a few of those gizmos only Shep can light up. But from what I skimmed when I was around the man, recent thoughts involved Harl going on and on about no longer wanting to impress Chief Commander, but wanting to get him out of the way for good – or something like that."

" You mean take over his position," John said.

" Sounded like it. All that plotting and planning I've told you about involved nothing but usurpation and possible ways of doing it without getting caught and killed..." Kace trailed off with his mouth hanging open, then snapped it close and shrugged. " I don't know. Harl's emotions were always two – fear and fury. Oh, and it was like he was always in a rush. He always had this tension like he was in a hurry, which always had him focused on the now, and which is probably why I couldn't get more from him. And why – you know – he did what he did to you Shep. It was like now or never for him."

Elizabeth nodded, hope sky high now. " Good, then we have plenty to use against him, starting with with a visit to this Chief Commander."

" It might not be all that easy, ma'am," Lorne said. " Even if this commander guy has something against the judge guy, if he's a 'strictly by the book' kind of leader, he may want proof to our accusations."

Elizabeth looked to Kace but said nothing.

Kace shook his head. " Never met the man. But it's a good possibility that – uh..." he trailed, looking to the table, then turning his head ever so slightly sideways. " You're going to need to present something as evidence."

Elizabeth moved her own eyes in the direction Kace was looking, and immediately shook her head.

" No, too risky..."

Rodney, who'd managed to remain quite the entire time, snapped his head back and forth between Kace and Elizabeth. " What? What's too risky? What're you taking about?"

John, also quiet and continuing in his calm, looked in Rodney's direction. " Think about it carefully, McKay."

McKay squinted. " What, you? You going back...? Oh hell no, too risky."

" Not if we were careful about it," John countered. " We go in by cloaked Jumper, set down near this chief Commander guy's place, and keep my face hidden from the rest of the world as we skip from point A outside to point B inside. Actually, we should bring two Jumpers in case things try to go south. We have the technical advantage here, and if this Commander's a hell of a lot smarter than Harl, he'll know better than to do something that'll have the equivalent of messing with the already pissed off rattle snake."

Elizabeth knew she should have roped in her hope, and now suffered the heart sinker of having it shattered like a dropped vase. But it was momentary when she realized Sheppard's continuing calm as he talked about going back to the world that had put him through hell as though it were just another planet to explore.

" Y-you're willing... to do this? Go back? Just like that?"

John's gaze darkened unnervingly, shockingly, his apparent anger cold and calculating. " Yes, just like that. They have our people, we need to get them back, and right now going to the Chief Commander is the most effective and non-violent way to do so, which is what I know you want, though personally I'd love a plan that involved me being able to put a gun to Harl's head long enough for him to wet his pants. But I'll survive the lack of revenge. I just want to get our people back, and I'll do what it takes to bring 'em home."

Elizabeth gaped at his conviction, trying not to smile and tear up at seeing the completed display of the old John Sheppard.

" Fine," she said. " And since you seem quite confident that you can be kept safe, I'm also going to volunteer in this endeavor as negotiator."

Finally, a new reaction from John, one of alarm that had him sitting straighter and opening his mouth to say something. Elizabeth held up her hand.

" Don't even try it, John. You know good and well I'm the best to handle it." She then looked back at Kace. " I would like if you could come with us since we could use your talents. However, I will not force it on you if you don't wish to go. You've already done enough for us and are under no obligation..."

Kace smirked. " Oh I'll go. Can't pass up the opportunity to see the look on Harl's face when Commander gets a hold of him."

Elizabeth smiled, and hope made its triumphant return. She moved her gaze back to John.

" And you're sure about this, John? Going back?"

John nodded. " It's cool." Then grinned. " Heightmeyer probably would have had me going back eventually in some therapy session anyways. This is a psychologist's dream for their patient, isn't it? Go back to the hell hole and face your fear kind of thing. And if the crap Harl did to me gets him tossed in a hole of his own, then it'll be worth it."

SGA

The plan was finalized, and the meeting was dismissed for the preparations to get under way. John was the first out, maintaining the casual while at the same time taking long strides in the direction of his quarters. He heard his name being called in the high, irritated voice of McKay, but pretended not to hear.

The closer he came to his quarters, the more his pace picked up until he was running the last couple of yards. He rushed into his room without bothering to think the door closed, and darted into the bathroom to drop to his knees before the toilet, doubling up and heaving in a strangled croak that became a liquid gurgle when the vomit came splashing out. He heaved and heaved, stomach contents flowing from him like rain water from a spout.

" You're good."

A lull in the heaving allowed John to turn his head from the toilet to see Kace leaning against the door with his hands in the pockets of his coat.

" Didn't know there were skill levels when it came to losing my lunch." He sighed, and went back to being face down in the toilet just as a lesser stream of burning bile wormed from his straining throat. Spitting chunks made him shudder, and incited a disgust that prepped his stomach for round two.

" You'd be surprised to know that there is, but that's not what I'm talking about. I was talking about that talented display of self-control I witnessed back there. Beautifully done I gotta say."

John closed his eyes and inhaled through his mouth. " Kind of a given you'd call my bluff. But do really feel you have to rub it in?"

" Who's rubbing anything in? I was genuinely impressed. Probably more impressed that you meant every word you said except for the last bit, and that you held out as long as you did. Plus I thought I'd warn you that Doc McKay's pacing a hole in the floor outside your door. If you need a moment, I can distract him for you. But – if you want my advice – I'd say now's a good time to let him in."

John gagged with nothing to show for it. The involuntary use of upper-body muscles reawakened old pains, and left John shaking and sweat-drenched. " Why now?"

Kace didn't say anything, just smirked. He left, and within seconds McKay stormed in, halting abruptly at the threshold to stand their dumbly and blink.

" What the hell's wrong with you?" he snapped, eyeing John carefully. John pushed himself away from the toilet on trembling arms.

" Reality and it's wicked right hook," John said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. " That's what's wrong with me."

The initial anger that would have launched McKay into one heck of a tirade wavered, slacking then rising as the physicist fought to hold onto it. But rather than give into a softening of expression, Rodney adopted an expression of mild skepticism coupled with a kind of 'I thought as much' look.

" So," he said. " _It's cool_ then, huh?"

John wanted to get up, to speed-walk out of the bathroom, brush McKay and the matter aside, maybe even bolt out of the room before anything more could be said. Except the moment he did, McKay would rat him out to both Beckett and Elizabeth, and a new plan would have to be formed when Beckett slapped his disapproval stamp on John's involvement in the mission.

Besides, John had no energy left to maintain the most difficult facade of his life, let alone to get to his feet. He moved to drop back against the wall between the toilet and the door, keeping the toilet within lurching range for the next vomit bout he felt churning in his gut.

" Nope. It's necessity."

" Says who?"

John leaned forward to pull up the back of his shirt as far as he could get it. " Says this."

A moment of silence, then; " Actually, that seems more of an incentive _not_ to go back."

John smiled tightly and snorted out a bitter laugh, releasing his hold on his shirt and easing back against the wall. " Oh, it is, McKay, believe me."

John heard Rodney finish his entrance into the bathroom, and watched as he moved in front of John, lowering himself to the floor with a grunt, pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms loosely around them. Again they were hit with a moment of silence that was very un-McKay, but John could see through the man's eyes the gears of the mind grinding away. Those same blue eyes darted and flitted over John's person, reading him in return. McKay had been caught off guard by John's display of his true feelings concerning this mission, and had been forced to reassess. John would have liked to have felt smug satisfaction that he'd stumped Rodney, but positive feelings were like matches without fuel, and flickering out the moment they lit.

Rodney opened his mouth, seemed to think better or realize something, then snapped it shut. John was startled – he really had sent McKay for a loop.

" Are you..." McKay began after another drawn out moment of being muted, " trying to prove something?"

John chuckled such a dry and sardonic laugh that there seemed no point to having laughed at all, so he ended it abruptly. " Necessity, McKay. I'm proof, I'm a witness, so on and so forth, blah ,blah, blah. Though it will be nice to see Harl soaking his own pants if that Commander guy listens to us. Not satisfactory, not all the way, but it'll be enough. What's important is getting our people back, and in truth – honest to goodness scouts honor and cross my heart truth – it's all I care about. That, and turning my back on that world once and for all, knowing I never have to think about it again."

McKay nodded. " Uh-huh. No macho crap then."

John let loose another acerbic chuckle that attempted to morph into a sob when his chest suffered an invisible vice grip, making his heart hammer and his throat tighten. He wanted to melt into the wall, and felt his back start to curve toward a cringe he tried to fight. The cringe he lost to, but at least the sob he cut off before it could escalate.

To his annoyance – and shame – his eyes burned with heated moisture. He quickly wiped them with an unsteady hand.

So much for the attempt. The truth was blatant, so he might as well finish it.

" No... No macho crap." He looked down at his casted arm resting in his lap. " I'm scared to go back, McKay. Honest to goodness, scouts honor scared. I'm terrified that if I do, and something goes wrong, then that's it. I'm back with Harl, back in that cell, getting beaten, getting starved, getting my brain frappeed until everything that's happened this past week becomes nothing but a dream I'll eventually forget."

The tears regrouped, fast, going at a charge until they finally slid down his face. He looked up at Rodney to let him see and let him know. Shame shouted at John, but fear was beating him down, making him doubt, question, drown in second thoughts until he felt the tremors of mild trembling run through him that he couldn't suppress.

But he fought all the same for the smallest granule of self control.

" I – uh..." he swallowed convulsively against a tight throat. Then he shook his head. " That can't happen McKay. I don't want that to happen. I can't go back to that. Whatever else happens... I -I mean I just can't."

His tone was begging, which was fitting enough since he was begging. He would do anything - _was_ doing anything – to save his people. The attitude of leave no one behind was, and would always be, a constant for him. But this time around, for the first and he swore for the last, would he ask for something in return. Just one, small thing.

Fuel aplenty for guilt and shame to join in fear's beating. John looked back down and closed his eyes, feeling so small and pathetic that he wanted to deck himself. He was being selfish, cowardly and selfish...

" H-hey, Colonel... Sheppard... uh, John. I-it's all right. I mean, we would never let that happen, doesn't matter what happens. Do you honestly believe we would?"

John rubbed the side of his aching face. " Not on purpose. But – you know – real life and all, irony, bad luck, all that crap. There's no saying what could go down. And I know there'd be a rescue, because this time you'll know I'm alive. Except Harl'll know you're coming for me, have me moved..." John looked back up at Rodney. " Possibilities, McKay, it's the possibilities that are scaring the hell out of me. I trust you, Weir, the team, Atlantis. I know you wouldn't leave me to that..." John closed his eyes and let his head drop back against the wall. " Life is unpredictable, crap happens, and I've become an official paranoid."

Rodney groaned in frustration. " This isn't more of that 'I'm a coward' crap, is it Colonel? Because it's getting kind of old. You are not Rambo, you are not the Terminator or any other imaginary, blown-out-of-proportions movie figment. You're human, and like all of us non-Kirk mortals, you have breaking points and have officially just reached one. A little something I like to refer to as the 'I've been through enough hell and am not gonna take it any more' reaction that's perfectly natural and to be expected. Which, in turn, does not, _not,_ make – you – a – coward. You got that? You are not a coward for being afraid of something you have every right to be afraid of. I mean, come on! You're going back there, doing your job, saying to hell with Harl if not out loud then deep down enough inside to force yourself back through that gate and back into your nightmare. How the hell does that make you a coward! Huh? Tell me."

John wouldn't have replied even if he had something to say, since five seconds after McKay stopped talking, John's stomach had reached Mount Vesuvius fury and he lurched back over the toilet, heaving his stomach inside out.

" Oh crap! Son of a...! Um..." Rodney stuttered.

Burning liquid seared John's throat, and during the brief respite before the next exhale, John coughed, spitting chunks. It was always the chunk spitting that got the stomach going again, even with nothing left to expunge.

Through the agony of puking which escalated the growing ache in his chest to pain, John felt the weight of a hand on his back, rubbing up and down over his spine with the jerky abashment of one wholly unused to providing any sort of comfort.

" Yeah, um... . Listen, you'll be all right, all right? Seriously, I doubt Harl'll even get a chance to look at you before Ronon whacks his head off. Hell, I'd probably end up blowing the whole planet to atoms before any of us let anything happen to you – and this time... it'll be on purpose. Not that I'd resort to that, I'm just saying..."

That actually got John to smile, and appeased the anger of his stomach enough for him to catch his breath. He chuckled softly.

Rodney sighed, and his hand paused between John's shoulder blades. " It won't come to you ending up stuck there. We won't let it." He then patted Sheppard's back, and rose with creaking joints. " I think I'm getting old. And you really need to do something about being so freakishly bony. It's disturbing." John saw Rodney's hand lower close toward his head, palm out. " You done?"

John waited before answering, then nodded and took Rodney's proffered hand. Rodney pulled John to his feet, catching him by both arms when he stumbled. Once steadied, John looked up to meet Rodney's gaze – his honest to goodness, completely worried gaze with more sympathy than John thought Rodney capable of, seeing as how he usually tried to mask it by now.

" You okay?" Rodney asked next.

John nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. " Yeah. If we can convince Carson to give me something for the gut without him resorting to grounding me from this mission, then I'll be good to go."

Rodney patted his shoulder reassuringly. " With my brain and your knack at being an unpleasant patient, I'm confident we can pull it off."

John smiled. " You're the man, Rodney."

Rodney beamed back, rising his full height with chest puffed out. " I know."

SGA

A/N: Humble thyself Rodney. Pride comes before the fall and all that. Things are about to get dicier with each chapter, so stay tuned.


	18. Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ack,Ack! I got it up! Finally! Stupid thing refused to load for the past three days.

A/N: Ack,Ack! I got it up! Finally! Stupid thing refused to load for the past three days.

Your reviews make me wish I really could pass out treats. Virtual ones are just too blah. So everyone go out, get yourself some cake or brownie mix, slap it together, and pretend it's from me. Okay, that's just silly, but feel free to treat yourselves, you deserve it.

And the plot thickens...

  
**18**   


John's brain periodically fritzing like a frayed wired made piloting a jumper out of the question. Safety sake had him resigned to a bench in the back between Weir and Ronon, with Teyla beside Ronon, and Rodney, Kace, and two marines across from them. One could never say how a jumper might react to the unstable mental twitching of one harnessing a super gene. Lorne piloted jumper one, and a third marine took up the copilot chair. The jumper lowered into the gate room, and jumper two was in the process of emerging from the bay. Lt. Cadman, Beckett, and Dr. Zelenka observed from the control room; Lt. Cadman at ease, Drs. Beckett and Zelenka nervous as hell. They had every right to be, seeing as how the city was under their watch, even if it was just for the day.

John was confident the three could handle it. Cadman was a given being military, with Beckett and Zelenka excellent under pressure no matter how much they denied it. Besides, chaos had become strictly an off world/off planet deal the past couple of weeks, and Atlantis had become about as exciting as a small, one horse town after dark.

Atlantis would be fine, and John wished feverishly that he could say the same for himself. He was tempted to remove the hooded military jacket that pooled the heat of his body to increase the sweat, and was already suffering the sour smell of it. He sat straight-back against the bulkhead, rubbing his clammy palms back and forth over his knees hard enough for it to almost count as a deep tissue massage that wasn't helping.

It wasn't going unnoticed, definitely not by Kace, and especially not by Rodney, plus Weir was shooting him askance looks of concern. John pulled his hands up to his thighs where he balled his fists to force immobility on them. Rodney was staring at him hard, unwavering, asking with his eyes over and over 'you sure, absolutely sure, one hundred percent positive sure you're up for this?' John inclined his head less than a fraction.

 _Yes, now shut up about it all ready._

Rodney narrowed his eyes. Kace snickered under his breath with his hand covering his mouth.

" John?" Weir asked, and it took John a moment to put a name to the voice.

" I'm good," he blurted, and with excellent timing when Lorne had the gate dialed up and was mentally nudging the jumper through after cloaking the ship. One wormhole whooping ride later, and they popped out the other side like a bottle rocket shot off into water, slowing for a gentle climb into the sky. Lorne banked around to get the 'gate in view of the jumper, just in time to see the ripple caused by the second jumper emerging, and for a witness of the guards flinching back, pointing and running about like headless chickens.

Lorne relayed instructions to jumper two, and again they banked, climbing toward the blue smeared with gold of an early morning sky. John was feeling pleasantly numb at the moment. He'd been expecting a jolt, like a shock, followed by a rush of unpleasant memories to suffocate him. Except the sight of a planet that looked like every other planet he'd ever visited just didn't cut it even for a psyche as fragile as his. But his body remained stiff in anxious anticipation for that moment when something either seen, scented, felt, or heard would send his mind packing down that road earth people called memory lane. Not that he'd panic, he knew he was passed the point of giving into delusion, but his stomach had yet to realize that there was no need to react any more.

They skimmed low over the trees with a heading per Kace's coordinates of where Chief Commander Morel's place was said to be – namely all the way on the other side of town. Lorne veered to skirt the town, and slowed on approach to the immaculate mansion of light gray stone masonry, slanted tile roofs, and stain glass windows.

Now John had his trigger, because the house was the spitting image of Harl's oversized torture den. John had to look away, so looked down at his fists clenched so tight they were shaking. His stomach churned and boiled, readying for Mt. Vesuvius round... actually, John had lost count, and he doubted he had anything left to puke up. All the same, acidic bile stung his throat, and he swallowed hard to shove it back down.

His rapid heartbeat was giving his inner turmoil away, since no heart beat that fast without the face going pale for it. He slid one fist down until it bumped the nine mil strapped to his thigh, and suddenly the universe felt far more manageable. A P-90 would have made life down right sunny, except those were stashed in jumper two as last protocol should things turn ugly. Weir wanted to go in seeming as non-threatening as possible, but allowed the nine-mils to maintain the Lantean reputation of being anything but stupid and quick to trust.

Lorne lowered the jumper into a sizeable clearing within the trees bordering the vast green lawn of the Commander's home. That lawn could have been mistaken for a golf course, and John pitied the guy who had to mow it.

The light dimmed when the jumper entered the shade of the woods. John leaned forward, his upper arms on his knees, and his fingers entwined tightly together. He felt a hand touch lightly on his back, and he hoped to high heaven he wasn't trembling too low for him to notice, but not anyone else.

" You ready for this John?" Elizabeth said.

" No," John stated bluntly. Then grinned. " But when has that ever stopped me?"

" Gee, now why do I find that lacking in reassurance?" Rodney retorted.

" I don't know McKay. I thought for sure you'd be used to it by now."

That had McKay balking, and the knot in John's gut unwinding, soothing the savage bile. He grinned in self-satisfaction at having not lost his touch, and that if his brain was steady enough for comebacks for McKay, then there was hope for himself yet.

There was a clunk as the bay doors opened that caused Sheppard to jump, bringing him back to the torment that was the here and now, and what was about to happen. Everyone stood, and with a deep, lung cleansing breath, John rose to follow, pulling the hood down further over his head. The rest of the marines were hooded as well, as though it was common protocol for Lantean military to keep their faces hidden. John was blended as one of the guards, but was screwed if being the tall, skinny one struck a cord of remembrance within the local inhabitants. Rodney had rehashed the team's own escape from Harl's men, and the crappy description given of Kace and John – interplanetary fugitives.

Two marines from jumper two stepped out of thin air and back into thin air to take up momentary residence in jumper one.

" Remember," Sheppard called, grimacing slightly at facing nothing as he spoke. " Don't make a move unless I say, or if someone happens to come along and starts getting curious about the invisible wall they seemed to have run into." It felt good to give orders, even if it was just for today. " If that happens and there's just one, fell free to give'em a little nap with a wraith stun. If there's more than one, just take off to let 'em question their sanity."

" Yes sir," came the reply from both jumpers, and John grimaced again. He was never going to get used to it.

With the ground rules established, Weir led the way through the woods toward the road leading up to the house. Pebbles and dirt crunched under their boots on stepping onto the wide compact path, and when forest gave way to clean-cut lawn, Sheppard and company spread out, taking point ahead and behind, with Weir and McKay in the center, McKay's gaze glued to the LSD.

It was a long walk up to the front entrance of the place. The road split around a massive stone fountain topped by the reptilian horse things that pulled the carts, heads raised and fanged mouths open, spitting white-foamed water flashing crystal in the sunlight. The 'Lanteans gathered in, keeping to the right of the fountain, and remained gathered on reaching the wide, gray-marble steps leading up to the double doors of amber colored wood. Lorne did the honor of hammering the knocker against the door, the thud resounding like rolling thunder on the other side. The wait wasn't long, and the door moaned open to a tall, thin, severe-looking man with hawk-features and jet-black hair pulled back tight in a pony-tail. He wore a long robe of red and black that stopped just an inch above the sapphire blue-tiled floor.

The man's dark eyes snapped up and down Weir's person without a twitch in a single facial muscle. The word 'mask' popped into John's head, a mask of skin stretched over bone and solidified by a crap-load of glue. He doubted the man had the capacity to even move his lips.

" May I help you?"

Okay, John was wrong.

The man's voice was flat to the point of sounding bored, which contrasted unnaturally with the severity of his face.

Elizabeth straightened to her full height. " Yes, you may. My name is Elizabeth Weir, ambassador..." it had been a unanimous agreement to go with ambassador for safety, since the title of 'leader' tended to give people bad ideas, " for the people of Atlantis who I believe your employer knows of. We wish to speak to him concerning a delicate situation that I really think he needs to hear about."

" And this matter...?"

" I'd rather discuss it with Chief Commander Morel."

John was glad for the hood since it hid his smirk within shadows. Mr. Mask said nothing for a moment, probably digesting Elizabeth's words. Finally, he inclined his head in a nod. " Please, enter. I will inform Chief Commander that you are here."

They entered the cavern size corridor with the triangle tiled floor and the massive gray stone walls rising high to an arched ceiling of carve flying buttresses. It was like a cathedral, the medieval kind with dark colored tapestries and arched doorways. Chips in the tile, stone, frays in the tapestries, and the fading wood of the doors gave the place an ancient feel. Once upon a time – yes – it was built out of a desire for opulence, and like Buckingham Palace or the White House, was probably a landmark and the permanent residence for past and future leaders. So unlike Harl's palace, Morel's home couldn't be a determining factor for the man behind the name of Chief Commander.

Dracula (fitting enough as far as John was concerned) led lady ambassador Weir and her entourage through the hall, up a short flight of steps, and to the right down another hall until they came to a row of blue cushioned benches along the wall across from a massive pair of doors decorated in carved symbols.

" Wait here, please," Dracula said, and shoved the doors open enough to slip through. Everyone sat stiff back and wary, except for McKay who was fixated on the language on the door.

" Looks similar to Ancient..." he mumbled.

John leaned to rest his back against the wall, and sighed. This place was nothing like Harl's place- excluding size of course. Nothing pretty, nothing shiny, nothing to think back on, so he allowed himself a modicum of relaxation. Kace was doing the same, but with legs stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other with hands in his pockets.

" That Nera guy's duller than wood," he said with a sniff.

" What's his name?" Weir asked.

" Nera. The head of house. Cripes, the guy's head's like a blasted rule book. I got drowsy at a glance."

Major Lorne pointed at the doors. " Can you hear what's going on in there?"

" Well, anyone can stick their ear to the door and listen, but if your talking about mentally, then no. I need direct visual contact, don't ask me why. One of the great mysteries of life for my folk."

" I think those are their laws written on that door," McKay said.

John turned his head to look at the physicist, mildly intrigued. " Oh yeah? What kind of laws?"

McKay shrugged. " The wordy kind, written in Biblical form with a massive dose of the cryptically poetic. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few kind of thing. The law must be spread with an unyielding fist, yadda, yadda."

" If there's something up there about 'thou shalt not harm the stranger in your midst," John said, " does that mean we can sue them?"

" I don't see anything pertaining to that, but I bet there's some religious moral code that's certain to put Harl six feet under," McKay replied. " Every world has 'em."

John grinned. " Then I scoff those who scoff moral codes. People say rules are meant to be broken, but some rules you've gotta love." John lifted his arms, about to knit his hands behind his head, when he recalled one of those arms being in a cast, so lowered them, tugging on his sleeve to ensure the cast remain hidden.

An increasing volume of murmuring drew John's attention to the right and two figures heading their way. One was an elderly man, bald but with a white beard and dressed in robes similar to Nera's. The other was wearing what appeared to be black fatigues, and was a head taller than the old man. He looked to be in his fifties, with a square, craggy face and silver hair cut military style and spiked.

That face, that hair, struck a hammer blow to John's head, and in flashed memories, too many, too fast, making his heart pound and his stomach coil.

Stars, planet, ship, falling, impact, pain, pain, pain, people, pain, screaming, pain, begging for help, pain, hatch gone, pain, faces, pain, Gorek, pain, silver hair, pain, hands grabbing, pulling, rough, uncaring, more pain, agony, fear, darkness...

John flinched back into the now, and lowered his head to hide his face in darker shadows. On reaching the door, and before entering, silver hair – continuing to talk in murmur so as not to be overheard, nodded a greeting to the group then entered.

John's heart felt ready to explode. What did this mean? Did this mean anything? Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe the man had been part of the rescue, hadn't seen what happened to John afterwards. Might not mean a thing. Then again, could mean anything, everything, too much. John's breathing climbed to match his heart rate, and his heart rate was making it hard to breathe.

" Hey She... uh, John?"

John snapped his head to the left, to Kace leaning forward with a troubled look. He'd been wise not to say Shep. If a name had been put with the crappy description of tall skinny man, it would have been the name Sheppard.

Good old Kace. No need for articulated explanations for him. He saw what flashed through John's mind, a more stable mind teetering on trying to go back to being unstable. John licked suddenly dry lips with a suddenly dry tongue, and questioned with thought only if he needed to be worried.

Kace gave him an apologetic look and shrugged helplessly. " Didn't scan him, sorry."

John's heart dropped like a rock, and he shivered. Reluctantly, feeling like a child ashamed for being spooked by a noise, he turned his head to look at Dr. Weir, who returned his gaze with her own inquisitive, and concerned, one.

" John?" she said. John glanced around, then leaned in closer to Elizabeth with head kept low.

" I've seen that guy before," he said in a undertone to keep it from echoing.

Weir leaned in as well. " From where? At Harl's?"

John shook his head, licking his lips again with no result. " No. He was there, when I crashed. I crashed here, after going after the ships. I must have, um... I must have got caught when they were hyperjetting out, got pulled along or something. I remember this flash, it lasted a while... But that's not important! Everything malfunctioned, I crashed here, some people got me out, and that guy, the one in black, he was there getting me out, him and that SOB Gorek – Harl's lead thug. Both of them were there, along with a bunch of others, and not one of them were even _remotely_ gentle about pulling me out if you know what I mean. And right after that... I don't remember much, but I do recall being in some kind of a hospital, and it was at that hospital the torture began just because I wouldn't light up the Ancient crap."

Elizabeth, already rigid, lifted both eyebrows in alarm instead. " So... what are you saying? That the Chief Commander knew?"

John let out a sharp breath and closed his eyes wearily. " I don't know. I have no... _freakin'_ clue. He might have just been there for the rescue and let Gorek take over or something."

John heard McKay groan.

" Oohh, I knew it was a bad idea for you to come here."

John smiled wanly. _So did I._

" So what do we do?" Elizabeth asked. " Take our chances and go ahead with it?"

John snapped his eyes open. It shouldn't have been possible, but his heart was smacking his ribs even faster. And, just his luck, he was shivering again. He turned his eyes upward, at Elizabeth, sheepishly, apologetically, ashamedly, and fearfully. He swallowed back against a parched throat enough of his emotions in order to speak. Except that he couldn't. Elizabeth was right. If they were going to get their people back, then they were going to have to take a chance.

But Elizabeth had seen his fear. Hell, it was out in the open for everyone to see, glaring like a brightly colored billboard.

John forced a pathetic, wavering smile, coupled with a broken laugh. " Yeah, exactly."

Elizabeth's expression hardened. " John..."

" I don't think we have much of a choice here, Elizabeth," he jumped in. " We need this guy's help." _Unless he's in on it after all, knew about me, sentenced me to hell. Then we're all screwed._ He didn't say it out loud because he didn't have to. Everyone was aware of it, so putting it into words was redundant.

" What if this is all part of a trap?" McKay piped up. John rolled his head in the physicist's direction, heavy-lidded with an annoyance not directed at Rodney. Rodney, however, didn't realize this, and raised his hands defensively.

" What! It's absolutely plausible. If this Chief Commander guy was part of what was being done to you, then coming here isn't going to solve our problem, it's going to make it worse. Maybe it's time we jump on over to plan B."

John sighed heavily and looked away. " McKay's right. Harl I wouldn't pin as being intelligent, but for all we know Chief Commander has an IQ to rival Rodney's and set this whole thing up knowing good and well we'd go for peaceful solutions before the gun-blazing, jail-break attempt. We can no longer trust to the situation."

Elizabeth clasped her hands and looked down at them. " What do you suggest we do?"

" I got a suggestion," Kace said, leaning forward with hand raised, then dropping it. He stood to move closer to John and Elizabeth, crouching in front of both. John leaned in with arms on his knees.

" We're listening," he said.

" Stick it out, except for you, John. Make up some excuse to go back to the ships and go. But if you want to know what's really going on in Morel's skull, then keep up the pretense of being diplomats and let me get a good scan of the man's mind. If he's got good intentions then we call you back in to provide the proof of torture. If not, then your lack of presence is going to buy us time. It's you they want so it's not like they're going to try anything against Doc Weir here unless they're certain the results are to their liking. And your the result, Shep. So as long as you're scarce, any trap the big boss had in mind can't be triggered seeing as how the prey isn't around to trigger it. Trust me on this. It's pretty much universal whatever the planet or race, unless you're immaculately wrong concerning Morel's intelligence. But I can probably vouch without a doubt that the man's smart. It's one of the billion reasons why Harl's paranoid about him."

John looked at Weir hopefully. " What do you think?"

Elizabeth squinted her eyes thoughtfully. " You don't think he'd try to add to the hostage collection in an attempt to force Atlantis' hand?"

" As long as you maintain you're the ambassador and not the leader, then no."

" Despite the fact they have no qualms about shooting messengers?" McKay said.

" That was Harl," Kace countered. " This is the boss man. Even if a little low on intelligence, he'd still adhere to the rules of proper diplomacy. And proper diplomacy means shooting the messenger is naughty."

Elizabeth gave John a penetrating, unwavering stare. " Are you okay with this, John? Truthfully?"

John grimaced internally, and plastered an a smile externally. " Truthfully? The idea of leaving isn't sitting well. Sure I can't just say hidden in the back?"

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. " What do you think?"

Now the grimace was outward. Truthfully, it was tearing John up , the whole hiding thing, being shoved so far in the back he'd never reach the others in time should anything to the negative go down. But the bigger picture never did allow for everyone to have their way, and John wasn't going to give in to petulance at the risk of loosing their people."

" All right, I'll go. Just keep the coms open, let me listen in so that we don't have to waste time with explanations later."

Elizabeth nodded. " Good idea. We'll do just that. You'd better go now, and take McKay with you so it'll look as though you're escorting him. The less attention on you, the better."

John pushed himself to his feet. " No argument here. Come on, McKay. Let's go for a walk."

SGA

" Regret coming yet?" McKay said between pants. He'd manage to possibly break a record by remaining silent until they were fifteen feet from the woods.

" Depends."

" On what?"

" On whether or not we get out of here with our people and everyone else intact. Until then, I refuse to regret anything."

They stepped over the unseen line dividing forest from manicured lawn, went a ways further, then veered into the forest with moss, dead leaves, and twigs snapping and crunching under their feet, the subtle shift in temperature relieving them of the growing heat that had been aimed at their backs. John led the way, pushing aside lesser branches, leaves, and living twigs while ducking and veering slightly around or stepping over ground obstacles.

" You're not uh... you know..."

John glanced over his shoulder. " Scared out of my mind?"

McKay twitched his shoulders and cast his eyes to the LSD in his hands. " Uh... more like how are you holding up... so far... I mean?"

John, smiling, returned his attention to the unseen path ahead. " Scared is in reserve. Right now I'm just gut-wrenching nervous. Which is a lot better than I'd expected. Nervous beats puking any day. And right now I'm more nervous about what Morel is up to than whether Harl spots me."

It was actually a relief when life fell into more appropriate perspective. John wouldn't have given into his fears, but there had been the stability of his mind in question, and so far his brain was being a good little organ and keeping itself in line.

" So," McKay said in a conversational tone, " you crashed on this rock."

" Seems to be the case, yeah," John replied, ducking a low hanging branch heavy with leaves and moss. " I mean if getting caught in the pull of a hyperdrive is possible, then it explains a lot."

" Oh, it's possible. Hell, you were probably about to dock when it happened, which comes as a surprise. Usually when it comes to saving my ass, your timing is better than your luck. If anything, it should have ended with you shoving me and Ronon into a dart, and staying behind because their isn't any room. Escaping hive ships is more your thing anyways."

John smiled again. " You still would have been pissed."

" True, and blaming myself, getting more pissed until I stopped blaming myself and dumped all the blame on you."

John did another glance over his shoulder. " Something tells me you weren't happy about finding out I wasn't around when you got back."

McKay shrugged, still focused between the LSD and the treacherous forest floor. " I'm unhappy in general, Colonel. But, yes, I admit that I was less than pleasant to be around, and Zelenka will blow it out of proportion for you. You really need to stop dying, Sheppard, it gets a little old after a while."

John chuckled and returned to facing forward.

" It's not funny, Colonel!" McKay snapped.

" Yes it is, McKay. Mostly because it's true. You're not the only one who gets tired of the close calls."

" And I suppose telling you to stop it wouldn't make a difference?"

John shook his head, still all smiles. " Depends on life, McKay. Crap happens that we don't have control over, and then all you're left with is the will to survive. Well, that and choice. I had a lot of choice. My decision results hurt like hell, but oddly enough I've yet to regret it. Principle of the thing, I guess."

" The reason?"

John's smile faltered and failed him. " The reason."

McKay's crunching footfalls doubled until the scientist was beside John, increasing his pace to keep up with John's long-legged strides. " Yes, good 'ole reason. I know we've discussed it, but I swear the way you talk about it you'd think it had been someone's life at stake."

John turned his head to look at Rodney, mulling over the words, turning them about like a pretty rock made intricate by colorful striations and tiny crystals.

" I think," John said, pensive as he thought back to things that made him shudder, " it was just something to hold on to, to fight for."

" And survival wasn't enough?"

John lowered his eyelids in a dangerous look. " I was beyond out of it, McKay, to the point where 'confused' doesn't cut it, and so freakin' terrified that all I wanted to do was crawl in a hole and die just to get the pain to stop. I think," he went pensive again, and his body vibrated with another shudder, " I think... after a while, I couldn't recall why they were hurting me. I don't know when I forgot everything, maybe after the first scramble, but one of the first memories to go had to be the reason for the pain. But it wasn't like the device made me stupid. I managed to put two and two together – over and over and over again. People plus torture equals bad people. Torture plus devices equals devices being bad. And that was all I knew, all I could get myself to remember."

Now it was McKay who became the pensive one, and he looked over at John curiously. " Like I said, I know we've discussed this, so this more just a rhetorical question but... you think, just maybe, disregarding all that talk about sending you into battle with a weapon and personal shield (which I still think stands, by the way) that they would have treated you better if you got one of the gadgets to work?"

A good question, and one that John - during moments of lucidity during his stay in the infirmary and even after - had contemplated off and on. " I remember – I think – promises made that I'd get the good life if I'd just get something to work." John then held up a single finger. " But here's the thing. Even if they'd treated me better from day one, I wouldn't have stuck around, and I sure as hell wouldn't have played a part in a freakin' assassination attempt or any act of espionage for that matter. To ensure me remaining the obedient dog that never runs away, they'd either have to keep up with the scrambler or chain me to the wall."

McKay lifted his chin. " Ah. Makes sense. But what if they wanted you to get the artifacts working in hopes that it might protect their world?"

" Then I would have tried to talk them into getting an ATA gene injection. The fact of the matter is, there was no way it was going to be one hundred percent sunshine and daisies on this world for me. I wanted to go home, they wanted me to stay, and even if they'd offered me a fancy room with a plush bed and good food, life was still going to be miserable in their attempt to keep me sticking around."

McKay nodded assent. " True, very true. And the fact that they jumped straight into torture doesn't say too much about them."

John tilted his head thoughtfully. " I don't know. They might have begun with the hospitable but got impatient. But all I recall is the bad, so it doesn't really matter."

They stepped into the clearing, following the erratic circumference until a marine stepped out of thin air.

" Lt. Colonel," he said, stiffening at attention. " Problem sir?"

John shook his head. " At ease. No problems, just a shift in the plans. McKay," John swept one hand in the direction the marine had appeared. " Do your voodoo."

McKay snorted. " That's Carson's expertise." They followed the marine into the jumper, with McKay going straight with Sheppard following close behind.

" Fine, hocus-pocus this thing before we miss something vital."

McKay humphed but made no real reply. He snapped at a young soldier to get the laptop from under the bench. With the portable computer, a couple of wires, and a ton of McGuiver-like ingenuity, McKay rigged it so that the communications array of the jumper belted out the conversation in the mansion for everyone to hear like a radio broadcast. The marines in jumper two were ordered to keep watch, and the bay doors of jumper one hummed closed, locking in the sound.

So far, it sounded as though they hadn't missed a thing.

SGA

Roughly around five minutes after John and Rodney left, both doors of the antechamber groaned open, and Nera emerged.

" His lordship Chief Commander Morel bids you welcome and enter."

The Atlantis party rose with Weir leading the way into the massive, circular room with the tile mosaic floor of multiple colors, and a domed ceiling of slick-white rock interrupted by ten small, round windows angled to guide pillars of light to the center of the floor. On the other side of this bright circle of light were several red-padded chairs facing a long, curved dais hugging the wall where officials in bright robes sat on high backed, padded chairs of their own.

Once the team was seated, Kace's mind went straight to the man in the center chair.

Chief Commander Morel, when standing, would have been as tall as Kace. He was a sharp-featured man, made even sharper by a neatly trimmed dark gray goatee and thin mustache and slightly narrowed ice-blue eyes. Morel's head was so clean shaven the skin practically glowed, making Kace's own head seem dulled by the thin layer of dark stubble. Morel was smiling a political smile so well practiced that the true emotions behind it couldn't be determined. He looked genuinely happy, ready with the polite words and the polite talk, and a surface scan did indeed reveal a genuinely happy individual. But there were underlying currents that required a deeper dig that would take time without direct eye contact. The man's thoughts were very much in the here and now, and it would take the right words from Dr. Weir to get Morel's mind to reveal more on its own accord.

" Dr. Weir," Morel said. " Representative of Atlantis. I welcome you to our world. It is an honor to have you with us."

Weir inclined her head. " Thank you, Chief Commander Morel. Although you may not be honored by the reason that has brought us here."

Morel remained quite stoic, straight back yet relaxed, with arms draped casually over the armrests of the chair. " Would this involve the incident of many days ago when Chief Judge Harl attempted to restrain your people against their will? Because if it is, then I sincerely apologize for it. Harl is a man who feels himself justified in many of his actions..."

Kace caught emotion, a little above a flicker. Annoyance, and with it a thought – a reminder – for Morel speak with Harl once again.

 _So why hasn't he booted Harl out of office already?_ Kace thought. _You'd think a jail break would be excuse enough to strip the man of his rank._

" Actually, Commander Morel," Elizabeth said when she was given the chance to speak, " this involves a more grave matter."

Kace shifted slightly, getting comfortable enough to hone his focus and dig in, tuning out all else say for Weir's words that would soon spark the needed thoughts.

" We have reason to believe that your Chief Judge has taken several of our people and are holding them hostage as ransom."

Kace blinked at the Commander's emotional shift into mild unease that was nearly smothered by something stronger – excitement, anticipation? Something along those lines. Yet Morel's outward appearance remained an unbreakable mask. His only reaction was raising a single eyebrow.

" And you know this... how?" Morel asked. The man was struggling to erect a kind of mental wall to dam in the rising anticipation – definitely anticipation, and it made Kace nervous.

" One of our people was released to deliver the message. Harl is demanding a trade. The hostages for one person. A person who – not long ago – was an unwilling guest of Judge Harl. He was severely mistreated by Judge Harl and we'd prefer that this person never encounter Judge Harl again. We were hoping you could help us in getting our people back without resorting to violence or giving into Judge Harl's demands."

Morel nodded thoughtfully, his forced concern so fake it made Kace wince. Granted, the man hid behind his own skin masterfully, but smug expectation wafted off him like oily mist. The more Weir talked, the more Morel fought not to giggle like a maniac. There were a number of other emotions hidden with the initial, dominating one; satisfaction, and the start of what would soon become... relief? Kace needed to do a deeper scan, because Morel was hiding something, and it was big.

Morel nodded again. " I see. However, I must warn you that these are quite heavy accusations. If you do not mind my asking, who was this person Judge Harl mistreated?"

Heat shot off Dr. Weir like a small explosion. " Someone who crashed on this world trying to save more of our own. He was injured, needed help, and was – instead – tortured."

" So this 'person', is someone of importance?"

Weir nodded curtly. " Exceeding importance. He's our military commander."

" So he is not someone you would be willing to sacrifice to save your people?"

The explosion became rolling magma, making even Kace go a little uncomfortable. The muscles of Weir's jaw twitched, and her body was so rigid hurricane winds could not have knocked her over.

" Although..." she forced out, breathing deep to maintain control, " he would willingly sacrifice himself if it meant getting our people back, we'd rather that be a very, very last resort. Which – again – is why we have come to you. We are asking for your help in rescuing our people..."

" And as I said, these are heavy accusations, and such accusations require proof. Do you have such proof? Is your military commander present now?"

" For matters of safety, we thought it best that he remain behind."

Morel physically froze to keep the smile plastered to his face. Emotionally, all walls crumbled, and Kace was struck by the combination heat and cold of fury and panic. Kace twitched in surprise at the impact, and twitched again when Morel quickly composed himself until both emotions were hovering at the back of his mind like crouching beasts waiting for the word or whistle to pounce.

" If we assured his protection, would you be able to bring him in order to provide testimony to what Harl has done? If not then I'm afraid I would be unable to help you in this matter..."

Morel's fear continued to vibrate, and his thoughts began to skitter about – to betray him. Kace saw... Wraith? _What do wraith have to do with anything? Well, they always have a lot to do with everything, but now?_ Something about the wraith coming, soon, and something else along the lines of – as John or McKay might put it – being screwed. But Morel's thoughts didn't dwell on it long. He was too busy trying to maintain his cool – again, as John might put it.

Kace needed a deeper scan, and now. Really not much left to lose at this point – not counting their lives. Kace cleared his throat loudly, raised his hand, and thought fast.

" Uh, chief Commander Morel, quick question."

Every set of eyes shot his way, but Kace only had attention for Morel, who was finally staring right at him.

" And you are?" Morel asked, all other emotions put on hold for the sake of annoyance.

" No one important. Just a friend of said military commander. And since he's not really here to speak for himself, I thought I'd do the asking for him. If he was here to give testimony, would Harl have to be present?"

" Eventually. Your 'friend' would have to speak his peace twice, the second time with Judge Harl present that he may defend himself. The laws of our legal system require equal testimony from both parties..."

 _Yadda, yadda, yadda. Time to get on with it._ Morel's legal prattling gave Kace the time needed for a deep scan. He delved, squirming past surface thoughts, and what he saw made his eyes round over. All Morel's words became garbled static, as well as a waste of time that was bringing about Kace's own panic.

" So," he barked, more like squeaked, interrupting Morel despite it being a massive diplomatic stumbling block, but like diplomacy mattered anymore. " Harl has to show up to give his side of things, but he can't mess with my pal whatsoever?"

Morel gaped for a moment, then frowned. " No. He cannot 'mess' with your friend."

Kace clapped his hands and rubbed them together. " Great, wonderful, perfect. I think we can live with that. Right, Doc Weir?" He looked over at Doctor Weir pointedly, pouring his urgency – his terror – into his eyes and expression. She stared back, confused, even a little annoyed herself, so Kace continued to hold her gaze, pleading silently with her and wishing psychotically that she was a fellow telepath.

Maybe she was, because what she was seeing was finally dawning on her. Not the whole truth, just that something was utterly and completely off kilter, and they needed to get out of here now.

She snapped her head around to meet Morel's gaze. " Yes, I suppose it will have to do."

Morel brightened, and relief filled him like a flash flood. " Good. This can be settled within the day if you are willing to retrieve your commander now. We will even provide escort back to the gate..."

" No need," Weir said. " We came all this way without escort, we can return without escort. And I believe our commander would prefer coming without being surrounded by those dressed uncomfortably similar to the ones who tortured him. I hope you understand."

Morel's smile split his face. " Completely."

Like hell. He just wanted Sheppard here and now, and would have sold his first born and then some to make it happen.

The terms were set, and by evening the Atlantis team was supposed to return. They couldn't get out of the place fast enough, and nothing was discussed until they were out of the building, beyond the front courtyard, back in the woods and back at the jumpers where Sheppard, McKay, and two marines came out to meet them.

" So..." John began, looking directly at Kace with everyone else mirroring him.

Kace scanned for presences, found none, so jumped right in.

" Morel's playing you. He's in on it and in on it way worse than Harl. So it's a good thing you didn't stick around Shep and flashed your scars for the whole world to see. Just seeing your face would have had Morel throwing out excuses for you all to stay a little longer. And by little I mean little - for today, the evening, just until tomorrow. Because tomorrow, or tonight – maybe even this late after noon - our mutual enemy drops by, and by mutual I don't mean Harl. I mean the wraith."

SGA

A/N: At last! I've finally fit the wraith into one of my stories. I never realized before how little I involve the wraith in things, and they were feeling quite left out.

Again, I thank Drufan for aiding me it putting a good ending together. At least I hope it's good, but if it isn't, that'll be my fault, not Drufan's. But it should be good because it was fun just to write.


	19. Retribution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Commence with the excitement. In five... four... three... two...

A/N: Commence with the excitement. In five... four... three... two...

  
**19**   


" Oh you've gotta be kidding me!" John gaped. " How the freakin' hell did they get in on this?"

Kace exhaled slowly through pursed lips. " Oohh, long story that would be better told in picture form. But from what I gathered – and I'm still reeling over this one – Morel contacted them."

Blow number two that John's mind automatically refused to except, leaving him blinking incomprehensibly. " What?"

Kace held up both hands and shook his head. " No questions, just listen since I don't know how much time we have. You were a much desired asset, Shep, after it came to Morel's knowledge – thanks to a planet they used to trade with nearly wiped out in a culling not that long ago – that wraith were about. They knew you could light up Ancestor gizmos – heard the rumor about it or something like that, which doesn't matter – and got a little overexcited when you crashed landed in their back yard. Hence; the immediate torture. Morel had left the 'convincing'," Kace quirked his fingers into quotation mark shape when he said this, " up to Harl since being keeper of a prison gave him experience with breaking people down into being good little puppets. Then you escaped, another trading planet was culled, and Morel panicked. He set the whole kidnapping up but – and get this – not simply to get you back, but to get the whole lot of you."

McKay visibly paled. " What!"

As did Elizabeth, who took an uncertain step forward. " All of us?"

Kace nodded. " Morel may not be all that bright considering what he's just done, but he isn't stupid. He knew you all would come to negotiate for help in getting your people back. And no, he doesn't know you're the real leader, Doc Weir, but in the long run it doesn't matter. Just like he knew Shep could make all the shinys light, by the same methods he knew the wraith had it in deep for you Lanteans. His plan was to make a deal with the wraith – a bunch of Lanteans in exchange for the wraith to skip over their world like a bad restaurant. Long story short, he got desperate, and actually contacted the wraith using the ship Shep crash-landed in. So they're coming here, time not exact though Morel had put it between today and tomorrow according to what the wraiths' response was. And since we're all quite aware about how well deals with the wraith go, I might suggest that we forgo playing nice, bust your people out of jail, and hightail it off this rock before the real festivities commence."

McKay raised a nervous hand. " I'm with the mind reader on this."

" Me too," Ronon jumped in, though John was perfectly certain his vote stemmed more from the jail-break suggestion.

John looked over at Dr. Weir, who nodded.

" We don't have much of a choice in the matter," she said. Story of their Atlantean life as far as John was concerned.

John jerked his head in the direction of the still-cloaked jumper. " Let's go then."

Jumper one decloaked for all of them to board, Weir first, followed by McKay, then the others. John stopped, forcing Ronon and the marine behind him to suddenly halt in return.

" Wait," John said, struck cold by sudden thought. " What about the people here?"

McKay turned to give him a pale, impatient look. " What about them?"

John narrowed his eyes. " Look, Morel and Harl might be pond scum, that doesn't mean their people are." His thoughts flicked like lightening back to a girl sifting through Kace's bag of goodies, looking at Sheppard with sympathy behind usually hardened eyes, and a tunnel to salvation she had let them use. " The wraith are going to cull this planet, deal or no deal, and the people here don't deserve being put on the menu just because their leader's a moron."

Elizabeth, folding her arms over her chest as though cold, gave John that look that expressed sympathy but said plainly ' be prepared for me to say no'. " What can we do about it?"

Sheppard threw up both arms in exasperation. " Warn them! Spread the word, give them a head start in evacuating off the planet."

" Everyone?" Elizabeth asked. " Would they even believe us? They would go to Morel first, and you know what he'll do. Assure them that everything is fine. The fact that he hasn't already evacuated his people says as much."

John shook his head vehemently. He didn't believe in futility, that said and done was said and done with nothing left to accomplish. They had time as long as the soonest the wraith arrived was late afternoon. This planet had the opportunity to save itself and like hell John could deny them that. Like hell he could let Morel kill off his own people in the name of pride and panic. " We don't know that. We can't honestly leave these people to the wraith..."

" You don't have to," Kace jumped in, leaning out of the jumper with one hand clinging to the rim. " You're going to have to go into Harl's to get your people, and as fortune would have it, that oversized hut contains a room normally used to make mass announcements throughout the whole city and then some, plus happens to have a switch that when flicked sets off alarms that'll get the people scurrying into the tunnels. Morel, Harl, and several other officials have these switches but you only need to set off one. The trick is to make sure it keeps going, because as long as it's on, the people'll stay hidden."

John reared his head back in surprise. Kace was deftly shoving McKay aside from his position as answer man. " And they'll be safe in the tunnels?"

" If they're smart enough to go into the tunnels. It's tradition to talk about going into the tunnels when the alarms go off, but these people haven't had a drill in a couple of decades."

" Even with the wraith waking early?" Weir asked.

" They haven't been attacked yet. Not on the wraith route, I guess. But Morel was more interested with finding a weapon than relying on the tunnels. And Harl, of course, more interested in saving his own hide. So folks are going to be a little rusty about the tunnels. More than likely they'll just hide in them rather than using them to escape. The tunnels should do the trick. Part of the tradition is knowing their location, that much I know from my friend Sereeka."

" Do you know where this switch is located?"

Kace grinned that reassuring, self-confident grin of his. " I can certainly find out."

Weir released a drawn out breath, hesitating in that split second to give herself a moment of thought. Finally, with jaw set, she gave a curt nod. " All right. So how are we going to pull this off? The less bloodshed the better, and we can't give Harl any time to call in reinforcements or move the hostages."

John cleared his throat uneasily. " Um... I have a plan."

Every eye turned his way, but it was Elizabeth's gaze he felt trying to burn a hole through him.

" Really?" she said, and with that 'I'm not going to like this' expression that made chills disperse outward from John's spine.

John shifted uncomfortably, and decided to just state the obvious. " Yeah, really. Though... you're probably not going to like it..." Too bad, though. He'd had this plan thought out from the beginning, just in case, and now – apparently – for what had become the inevitable.

Weir cocked an eyebrow. " I already don't."

SGA

" Never thought I'd actually be walking back to this place voluntarily," Kace said beside Sheppard. The telepath was wearing an Atlantis jacket and vest – both John's – with the hood pulled up to stay off immediate recognition (had Harl locked Kace's face away in memory, but something told John it was doubtful.)

John, seemingly restrained by both Kace and Lorne keeping a grip on Sheppard's arms, would have felt next to naked in only the black long sleeved shirt that did absolutely nothing to hide how toothpick thin he was -no vest and no jacket - but the knife in the leather sheath hidden within his pants at the hip (courtesy of Ronon) made him want to grin. " You didn't have to come. We told you that."

" And I'm grateful you give a man his agency, but I've got friends on this world I'd rather not see sucked into dry, bony husks. You understand."

" Oh, completely."

" Will you two can it!" McKay hissed. " We're getting closer, so stop acting nice, Sheppard start acting pissed or scared or whatever, and let's get this over with."

McKay was keeping pace behind Ronon, who was on 'guard' behind Sheppard. The Satedan was absent one leather coat traded for a hooded jacket. Teyla, McKay, and the three marines surrounding them were identical in dress with hoods hiding their features. It wasn't perfect (Kace and Ronon weren't exactly fitted for BDUs being as tall as they were, so retaining their pants) but if what John had in mind worked, it wouldn't matter. Everyone of the Harl residence would be too distracted to take notice of minor apparel differences.

John's heart beat fast with the house in sight and getting nearer. If he stood any more rigid, he was certain his spine would snap, and the tension wracked him with minor tremors.

He was scared, but a manageable scared since he was also pissed. The leaders of this world were idiots; completely selfish, heartless, SOB idiots. There was no justification for what Morel and Harl was doing. Pompous freakin' windbags were yanking Armageddon down around their ears and yet kept on yanking. They'd made an enemy of Atlantis, had called on the wraith – the complete lack of intelligence staggered John. If it wasn't for the rest of the inhabitants, John would have merrily left the two stooges to their self-provoked fate.

On reaching the door, Lorne gripped the knocker and slammed it four times against the door. The sound rumbled like distant thunder on the other side. John swallowed without saliva, and clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palm.

" Easy Shep," Kace whispered.

Lorne knocked again, harder and five times. Several rapid heartbeats later, the door moaned open to Harls' stringy, nervous drudge. John didn't recall the servant personally, but the little man certainly seemed to remember John by the way his eyes tried to bug out of his skull. He sputtered rather than spoke, pointing at John with a knobby, arthritic looking finger.

Major Lorne took an inch step forward. " Where's Harl?" he demanded, laying the acid thick on his words. " We got what he wants. Time to give us what we want."

The drudge nodded shakily. " O-o-of course. Please, wait here..." He started to shut the door, but Kace's hand shot out to stop it.

" I don't think so," Kace said.

" How about you just take us to him," Lorne said.

The drudge wasted another few seconds with more stuttering until he finally bowed his head and stepped back for the others to enter. The Lanteans filed in and drudge led the way through gut-wrenching familiar corridors. Cold filled John starting from the pit of his clenching stomach and radiating outward. He fought not to cringe, and found that by averting his eyes to the floor it helped keep the need to vomit at bay. Images flashed – painful ones – and deja vu hit him with the force of a freight train, tilting his reality so that for a brief moment he believed himself back in Harl's bad graces, going in for another game of refusal and abuse.

Heavy, clomping footsteps forced John to look up, and he immediately pulled back, stumbling, his heart rocketing into his throat. Gorek was moving toward them, flanked and followed by eight other uniformed thugs, and Gorek's gaze was laser sighted on John.

" Easy Shep. Be calm," Kace hissed. His grip on John's arm tightened, halting the subconscious action of the Colonel's hand attempting to go for the knife in his waist band.

Both sides halted, both staring eachother down, and after a long moment of tense silence that could have snapped at a sigh, Lorne moved to be slightly forward and in front of John.

" Where's Harl?" He demanded.

Gorek's gaze never even twitched from John. The stare he gave the Colonel was unreadable, until John caught the the minuscule quirk at the corner of the big man's mouth. Again Kace's grip tightened when John tried to move his own arm.

" You've brought him," Gorek said, amused. " Guess that proves Lanteans aren't as dumb as we thought. Please leave your weapons here and follow us."

The pain of disarming was made evident by the identical expressions of anger, especially on Ronon's face. The soldiers took the weapons, patting down the Lanteans for any that might be hidden. Gorek searched John personally, and was none too gentle about it, but Ronon's skills at placing concealed weaponry kept Gorek from finding the knife. When finished, he grabbed John's upper arm, squeezing hard enough to leave a mark for later. He tried to jerk John out of Lorne's and Kace's grasp, only to have both men jerk back.

" Uh-uh," Lorne said. " Not yet. You get him when we get our people back. Now take us to Harl."

Gorek finally let the smirk show, but his eyes flashed with fury. He said nothing, just turned and led the way with goons surrounding the Lanteans. John knew from fragmented memory growing more potent by the second where they were going. Harl's office, the one Kace had ransacked. They stopped before the door where Gorek knocked then entered. After two minutes, he opened the door and signaled the others in. Harl was sitting behind his desk, but rose and moved around to stand before it, wide eyed and brow furrowed.

" You- you brought him..." he breathed. He began wringing his hands, and his lips started creeping upward toward a smile.

John stared at this bald little man, right in the eyes. His heart thundered in his chest, and blood roared in his ears, boiling with magma hot hatred that made his clenched fists shake with the torturous desire to strike out, if not with knife then at least with his fist. It was a desire that made his whole body shudder and ache, sharpening the rage that he focused on, using it like fuel to sum up the energy he was going to need very soon.

" You brought him," Harl breathed again, and moved forward. " You actually brought him." He stopped in front of John, looking him over, and the scrutiny made John's flesh crawl.

" Yeah, we brought him," Lorne spat. " So time to live up to your end of the bargain. Now where the hell are our people?"

Harl didn't appear to be listening, intent on John as he was. He reached out, placing his hand against the side of John's face. John pulled away with a sneer of disgust, but Harl kept up with being touchy/feely. He moved John's head for a view of both sides of his face, then stuck his knuckles into John's jaw, forcing his head up.

" Looks as though he's regained quite a bit of his strength," he said, sounding and looking mildly disappointed.

" Our people," Lorne pressed. " Then he's all yours."

Harl finally pulled his eyes away to look Lorne. " That simple? I did not expect such immediate give to our demand."

Lorne tilted his head toward John. " He agreed to it."

Grinning like a drugged cat, Harl looked back to John. " Did you now?"

John shrugged. " One life or many lives. Not exactly hard math there."

Harl nodded, still, apparently, not fully listening. His eyes went wide again, and he held up a single finger. " Wait. You'll get your people back, but I have one more request. But do not worry, it is a small one."

Harl went to one of the many shelves, and pulled down John's 'favorite' device – that round ball. He hurried over, then held it out to John, eyes wild and teeth flashing through his smile.

" Make it work," he commanded. " Then your people will be freed."

John couldn't suppress the bitter smirk. He'd seen this coming the moment he stepped through the door. He pulled both arms from Lorne and Kace, and reached out, taking the object into both hands. It lit up like Christmas lights around the middle, and warmth increased in the palm of John's shaking hands.

Deja vu was hammering him into the ground. History truly did like to repeat itself.

 _Might as well play along with it, then_. He glanced, looking as uncertain and nervous as he could possibly make himself, to Lorne then Kace. Their return looks spoke without words, and John moved his head almost imperceptibly in a nod.

John licked dry lips. " It's doing something."

Harl brightened like a kid on his birthday about to open presents. " What? What is it doing?"

" This," and John hurled the thing at Gorek. The metal ball smashed him in the face, knocking him down, and in the same instant John whipped out the knife while grabbing Harl by the collar of his robe, hauling him around to have the bald man against his chest and the large knife at the bald man's throat.

" Don't move!" John snarled, and his body went from trembling with anger to trembling with glee, heart beating in uncontained joy at Harl's own shuddering and his gasps of terror. John tightened his arm across Harl's shoulders, and pressed the blade in closer to the jugular. " So much as sneeze in a way I don't like and it'll be your boss' blood being cleaned off the floor."

" No!" Harl whimpered.

The goons lowered their weapons, and the Lanteans took them.

" Into the corner," John said. The guards shuffled over to pack themselves into the corner of the room. John started off the careful retreat from the room.

" McKay, grab that round thing."

" Why?" McKay said, gun in one hand and LSD in the other.

" Trust me, it may come in handy."

McKay grabbed it with a grimace when he glanced at Gorek's blood smeared face, and brought his pack around to shove it inside. The Lanteans backed out of the room, with Ronon last to close the doors. A marine pulled out some nylon rope to wrap through the handles, locking the guards inside.

" It won't hold 'em for long once Gorek wakes up and takes the secret exit out," Kace said.

Harl gaped. " How do you..." but was cut off by the increase of pressure on the knife.

" None of your business," John snapped, and relished being able to. He shoved Harl to another marine, who deftly yanked the bald man's arms behind his back to tie them off with more nylon.

John slipped the knife back into the hidden sheath and took the gun offered to him by Lorne.

" All right, phase two time," John said. " Kace, go with Ronon, Lorne and McAllister to that room you were talking about. McKay, go with them in case things end up being a lot more technical than they should be. The rest of us'll head to the prisons. Keep in radio contact at all times, and when finished head back to the jumper unless otherwise told."

" You sure about this?" Rodney said. The man didn't hide fear well, but it was different from the arrogant veiled fear John was used to seeing. In fact, it wasn't so much fear John was seeing, but worry, worry aimed at Sheppard, and momentarily mirrored by Ronon also looking at him.

" As sure as I'm going to get. Now move. We don't have a lot of time here."

SGA

Elizabeth leaned with both hands on the head rest of the copilot chair. Listening to the cacophony of voices over the com was like listening to one of those old fashioned radio programs minus a narrator to fill in the details. Every shout, garbled multi-conversation, and sudden non-voice related noise had her heart leaping hurdles that took her breath with it.

 _Why did I agree to this? Why, why, why the hell did I agree to this?_ Because the plan had merit, and because of the desperate look on John's face. His trepidation as he had explained his idea was hard to miss. No, trepidation wasn't the right word - John had looked all out afraid. But his resolve had outweighed his fear, keeping him standing straight and able to stare Elizabeth straight in the eye as he talked. Fear could pour from him like a downpour, it didn't mean he was going to give into it. And thus far, hearing him over the com, it was very much the old Sheppard, with the situation in his control.

But that was only thus far, with a ways still to go, and sudden shifts in the voices and noise trying to get Weir's skin to jump off her bones. As much as Sheppard sounded in control, that could easily change. Concerning his mentality, she wasn't as concerned. No reason to be according to everything she was hearing. John physically was another matter

" Sheppard to Jumper one," came John's voice over the come. " We've secured Harl. Are on our way to get our people and set off the alarm."

" We read you, Colonel," Elizabeth replied. " How long do you think it'll take?"

" Probably not much longer. Fifteen, twenty minutes tops give or take. Maybe less as long as Mr. Harl is willing to cooperate. You willing to cooperate, _Chief Judge_?"

John's tone was like venom, and Elizabeth caught what sounded like a whimper. She'd been hasty about setting aside worry for John's mental state.

" John, just... try not to do anything you'll regret later."

" What's that supposed to mean?" John asked, sounding pissed.

" Don't kill Harl."

" Wasn't planning to. Well, not unless the situation calls for it. Doesn't call for it, does it Harl?"

Again came another whimper then a stuttered no. And since Weir heard no voices of protest coming from the others, felt it safe to say that John was just getting his revenge kicks by scaring the crap out of Harl.

Elizabeth wished she could see it. Selfish tormentor cowering away under the arctic glare of malice from the tormented. The physical didn't really matter, it was the mind within the pale and thin body that mattered. Cunning, dangerous – had John remained emaciated, even lost a limb or two, he'd still come off as threatening. Harl was learning that the hard way, and a smile lifted up at the corner of Elizabeth's lips.

" Just be careful and hurry back," Elizabeth said.

" All part of the plan." And Elizabeth pictured clearly his lop-sided smirk.

SGA

Kace was far superior to any life signs detector, and allowed McKay to pocket the device, enabling him to get a better handle on the gun slightly larger than a nine mil. They moved at a fast walk through a maze of corridors, pausing when Kace paused, ducking into doorways or behind corners when he raised a hand and waved them back. They avoided the sentries for a good while until one particular intersection became a road block when two of the sentries decided to stop for a chat with eachother. Their murmuring echoed hollowly down the hall, droning on and on, interrupted by the occasional chuckle or sigh.

The droning, and time slipping like water through their fingers, was grating McKay's nerves. It was Ronon, however, who snapped with impatience first, lifting his gun, whipping around the corner, and stunning the two gossips with two quick blasts.

McKay tossed up his arms as the rest of the team joined Ronon. " Thank you!"

Kace chuckled, patting Ronon on the shoulder before passing to retake the lead. " I like your style, friend Dex. What say we proceed your way. Hell of a lot faster."

They resumed their semi-jog down the corridor decorated in tapestries and some kind of black, plastic looking armor.

" How much farther?" Lorne asked.

Kace pointed ahead. " Just up these steps and to the right."

They jogged up, only to have Kace slow, then stop, tilting his head to the side as though listening. " Friend Dex, I believe this is your party."

Ronon moved around Kace to the top, just in time to blast off a stun with the thud of a fallen body following. Kace waved for the rest to follow, but let Ronon take the lead. The hallway they entered was far smaller and massively more narrow than the corridors downstairs, with thick, colorful carpeting instead of veined stone floors. They moved right with footsteps muffled from taps to barely audible thumps as they passed door after door. Kace stopped before wide double doors that he quickly yanked open. Inside was equipment straight out of a cheesy 1940s style science fiction flick, cluttered in small switches and blinking lights.

McKay narrowed his eyes. " Oh you can't be serious."

Kace moved to the over sized circuit board on the left, and slapped his hand on the control panel. " Here it is. Think you can work it, Doc McKay?"

Rodney shouldered past Lorne and the other marine, moving his gun to his other hand. " A five year old can work it." He looked the control panel over, and flipped a small, metallic switch. Several red and blue lights blinked on, and McKay strained his ears into the silence, catching the distant rising and falling howl not unlike tornado sirens (McKay knew after having had the unfortunate luck of staying overnight in Kansas during tornado season.)

Rodney clapped his hands together and rubbed them. " All right, then. People warned, world saved, mission accomplished. Can we go now?"

" Gladly," Kace said. They hurried from the room with Lorne last to shut the doors and slap on what McKay could only describe as some sort of high-tech handcuffs onto the handles.

" That should keep them out for a good while," he said.

" Good," Kace said, once again leading the way, but this time in a full out run, " because the bruiser squad is already heading our way."

SGA

Sheppard wanted to be the one pressing the gun into Harl's back, marching him out ahead in the direction of the prison. But he couldn't trust to his strength, or his mind, and had to keep reminding himself of this with jaw clenched and anger burning hot through his body. He controlled the anger by letting himself enjoy the satisfaction of watching Harl tremble as John had once trembled right before the little man had torn his back up with a metal switch.

Little man. That _little_ , cowardly, selfish, brainless man. Big muscled goons gave him brawn, but without them he was nothing but a mouse, a flea, a freakin' amoeba. Tense muscles pulled the knitting skin on Sheppard's back, the cloth of his shirt catching scabs of the larger, fresher wounds slow to heal thanks to infection. Ribs twinged, not painfully, or even uncomfortably, just always reminding him. And his arm, still cocooned in a cast. Harl hadn't broken his arm, but he'd broken his mind, the madness leading to the breaking of bone. Harl hadn't been present but he'd still managed to ensure Sheppard got tortured. And for what? Ancient toys, toys that didn't do jack except go all sparkly. The good stuff was the big stuff – chairs, jumpers, Atlantis itself – not toys. The small stuff had their moments, but they sure as hell wouldn't be taking down any hive ships any time soon.

The prison wasn't that far, and with most of the downstairs patrol locked in Harl's office, no resistance was met. The two guards on either side of the bar-windowed door exchanged looks on spying their gibbering boss' approach surrounded by armed visitors. The gaze exchange was as far as they got when Teyla zapped both with a wraith stunner courtesy of Harl's collection. Both men crumpled like stringless puppets to the floor, and the second marine snatched up the keys to the cell from one of the guards' belt. Unlocking the door produced a clunking sound, opening it a thunk, both making John involuntarily flinch.

But it was the stench – urine and unwashed bodies rising up like an invisible mist to slip through John's nostrils – that made his stomach finally tie and tighten into an impossible knot. He shuddered, and couldn't stop his body's reaction.

The first marine, Lt. Mercer, jabbed Harl with the gun, prodding him forward down the winding stairs. The second marine, Lt. Jones, followed. John was about to go in after when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. He glanced back into the tight, worried face of Teyla.

" Will you be all right?" she asked, sympathetic to the soul.

John swallowed and smiled a sincere smile of gratitude. " I've gotten this far... Might as well face the rest of the beast."

He stepped through the door, and followed the winding steps deeper into the scent cesspool. Groans, shouts, and raucous conversation rose up like a building tide. The two young marines were already at the second door with Lt. Jones hovering over the fat warden menacingly until the clank and thump put a damper on the prison noise level. Again, John flinched, and his heart hammered in an adrenaline rush of fear and anticipation, his body tense as a bowstring in excitement over the ultimate form of sticking it to the man by waltzing in with his abuser held hostage and prisoners about to be released.

The moment the door opened, Teyla and Lt. Jones rushed in, Harl, Lt. Mercer, the fat Warden and Sheppard following after. Teyla and Lt. Jones rushed down the line of cells peering in each. The noise was deafening with prisoners shouting and tossing food and who knew what else at Harl and the warden, and a few whistling or shouting at Teyla.

" Do you see 'em!" John shouted above the roar. Teyla rushed back up the cells, shaking her head, and Lt. Jones shrugged.

" Don't see them in any of the cells, sir," Jones said.

John's excitement was quick to get knocked aside by fury. Cocking the gun, he surged forward and pressed the business end to Harl's temple.

" Where are they?" he said, flat, cold, and barely controlled. At that moment, that single moment, John had never wanted to shoot anyone more in his life than he wanted to shoot Harl, not even Koyla. He barely breathed, his heart barely beat, as numb filled his body to smother all sensation, all thought, except for that single and all consuming desire. It would be easy; pull, bang, splat, dead. So easy...

And Harl knew this, saw the desire in Sheppard's eyes, and knew without a doubt that Sheppard was going to kill him. Harl cringed, sputtering, whimpering, tears rolling down his face like rain. John's rage boiled into disgust, and the desire dissipated like water on dry sand. Harl really was pathetic, absolutely pathetic, and weak. Killing him would be a waste, nothing more than an act of revenge, cold blooded and pointless, and Sheppard wasn't a cold-blooded killer. Death was an unpleasant necessity when lives were at stake, when the world was narrowed down to to heat of the moment, kill or be killed so don't think about it times in the heart of battle. This wasn't one of those times. Harl was a threat to no one except himself, and no way was John going to bring himself to this coward's level just for the sake of revenge. He was a better man than that.

John never did like death anyways.

But he kept the gun to Harl's head, and kept the anger pouring out by the gallon, stoking the fury to keep up its blaze in his eyes. Harl kept up the stream of inane chatter that John deciphered to be pleads for his life. John pressed the gun in harder.

" Where – are – they," John ground out.

" Y-You – you wouldn't," Harl gasped. John tilted his head to the side, the numb creeping back over him, shrinking the world until it was just him and Harl. No, he wouldn't shoot Harl, but he'd gladly settle for knocking a dent into the little man's skull.

" Think about that carefully Harl. Think about who's got the gun to your head..." With his other hand, the casted one, he lifted his shirt, flashing still visible ribs, fading bruises, healed and partially healed wounds that would leave vivid scars. " I never paid you back for your _hospitality_ ," he spat, and lowered the shirt to hide the remnants of abuse on his body. " Now seems like a good time." He pressed the gun in even harder until Harl nearly stumbled sideways trying to lean away from it.

" All right, all right! D-don't, please don't!" he sobbed. " Th-there is another cell... Frun, show them."

The fat warden shuffled timidly forward, all the way to the end of the hall with Teyla and Lt. Jones following close behind. Furn pushed in a stone block with a shaking hand. There was a clank, then part of the wall shifted and slid away. Teyla peered inside, then glanced over her shoulder, smiling.

" They are here!" she said, then stepped aside as the wayward team emerged, Stackhouse exiting first looking filthy, tired, but otherwise unharmed. He blinked raising a hand against the glaring light, then hurried up to Colonel Sheppard, saluting.

" Sir...!"

" At ease Sargent. How is everyone? Anyone hurt?"

Stackhouse shook his head. " No sir. Except Corporal Sanders..."

" Safe at home, Sargent. So less talk, more escaping. Let's go."

John grabbed Harl by the collar of his robe and shoved him back into Lt. Mercer's clutches. With Harl acting as a shield by being prodded forward first, the rest followed, John eying each soldier and scientist as they passed to assess their condition at a glance. Dirty, relieved, but none apparently tired to the point of collapse. John was about to follow when Teyla's hand gripping his arm almost painfully stopped him. He whirled around, staring into her pale, terrified face.

John's heart sank fast. He knew that look.

" Oh hell no. No freakin' way..."

Teyla swallowed. " The wraith... They are here."

SGA

A/N: I do love them twists. And don't worry, Kace won't be replacing Rodney as the answer man.

The only setback to fanfiction is fighitng the urge to totally do your own thing. So I must keep saying to myself - " I will not give Sheppard magical powers, I will not give Sheppard magical powers, I will not give Sheppard magical powers... unless I find some plausible, canon way to do so." Thank goodness I got turning him to a dragon out of my system... or have I?


	20. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I give you hugs and thanks for all the reviews that make me happy and keep me motivated. Now on to more exciting stuff.

A/N: I give you hugs and thanks for all the reviews that make me happy and keep me motivated. Now on to more exciting stuff.

I also apologize for the delay. First it wouldn't load, then I couldn't get on the Internet because our phones were down.

  
**20**   


John stared at Teyla incomprehensibly. " Here? As in here here? On this world? Close by?"

Teyla's head jerked in a stiff nod. " I am just now sensing them, but they feel near."

" Son of a...!" John didn't let himself finish in order to save his breath to tear up the winding stairs while tapping his radio.

" McKay! Where are you?"

" Making exceptionally slow progress to the back door of the house. Guards keep popping like fleas on my cat..."

" McKay! Listen to me. Don't go outside. Head back to the main entrance and meet us there."

" Why?"

" Just do it! Now!"

John rushed through the dungeon door and passed his bewildered team, negotiating the halls back to the front entrance and nearly colliding into the door before stopping. He opened the door barely a crack and did a quick scan outside. He heard the clatter of feet coming up behind and slowing, but didn't glance back.

" Sir?" said Stackhouse. John held up his hand for silence, and within that silence he caught the distant but steadily climbing mosquito whine of darts. John shoved the door shut and bolted the locks. " Okay, we've got a big freakin' problem." He backed away from the door and turned to face the others, his eyes going straight to the still twitching Harl.

" Well, it's official," he said, smiling nastily. " The wraith really do like to be punctual." He tapped his radio again. " McKay?"

" We're coming!"

Sure enough, when John looked up, it was to see the rest of his team hurrying down the hall straight toward them. At the same time, John's radio crackled to life.

" Colonel Sheppard?" it was Weir's voice. " Come in..."

" I copy you. Wraith?"

" Um... yes, actually."

Rodney paled. " Wraith?"

John shot him a scathing look to be quiet. " You wouldn't happen to see any wandering around on the ground, would you?"

" Not yet."

" Great. We're on our way, Sheppard out." He passed his eyes over the group for a quick head count, and nodded. " All right, let's go while we still can."

" What about him, sir?" Lorne asked, jerking his thumb at Harl. The little man's face shone with a solid sheen of sweat and drops sliding down his face.

" We bring him along in case his guards try to make things difficult, then dump him."

" What!" Harl whined, trying to pull away from the iron grip of the marine. " No, you can't...!"

John gave him a cold, pointed look. " Gee, Harl, why so scared? I thought your boss had the wraith under control. I mean he is the one who called 'em here, and being your leader and all I thought you'd have a little more faith in him."

Again Harl tried to pull away. " He's a fool! He has doomed us all! I – I tried to warn him..."

McKay snorted. " Your very highly despised boss but and yet not your people. I think you really need to reconsider your priorities."

" Screw this, let's just go," John said, turning back to the door. Ronon was already there, peering out as Sheppard had done a moment ago. He looked over his shoulder at John, and as usual his face was unreadable.

" Problem Sheppard."

John just stared at him, then tilted his head back to cuss at the ceiling. " Son of a bitch!" He dropped his head back down and went over to the door. Peering out, he saw a flash of white and dead pale flesh through the trees.

" Weir to Sheppard," came Elizabeth's voice over the radio.

" Copy it. Dr. Weir. Let me guess. Wraith are on the ground."

Silence for a moment then, " Sure telepathy isn't contagious? What are we going to do?"

John started rubbing the back of his neck, thinking as fast as his heart was pounding. He glanced back at his team and their expectant and nervous faces. His eyes, - again – fixed on Harl, and ideas clicked into place. He tapped his radio.

" Jumper two, this is Sheppard. Change of plans here. I need you to go in cloaked to the gate. If it's not dialed in, then dial it in. P4-578 should do it. It's uninhabited but safe. If it is dialed in, wait until it shuts down then dial in and make sure it remains active. Got it?"

" Copy sir?"

" John, what are you doing?" Came Weir's voice.

" Right now just trying to make sure we survive. Look, if the alarms worked then the locals shouldn't be out in the open for the wraith to feed on. Hopefully, the lack of any human cattle to eat should send them packing early. All we need to do is wait them out. So stay in the jumper and remain cloaked."

" Lt. Colonel!" Weir snapped

" Look, if we go out there then the wraith get what they want and we're all screwed. This world was equipped with the means to handle the wraith and we plan on using those means. We'll be fine."

" You don't know that."

" Well, right now it's all we've got. We'll try to head back as soon as we can, then we can hightail it out of here as long as jumper two's able to keep the gate open. This is the only plan I got that makes sure we all get out alive. If you have a better idea then I'm all ears."

Silence, then, " All right. Just be safe."

" I don't think any of us have the intention as going out as lunch. Sheppard out." John then went straight to Harl, who shrank back shivering. He raised his gun to Harl's Forehead. " You wanna live?"

Harl swallowed, jerking and tugging to try and loosen the marine's hold. " W-w-w-what is the point? You will only leave me to the wraith in the end."

" Where's the tunnel?" John asked. Harl ceased struggling and narrowed his eyes.

" You might as well just shoot me..."

" Got it!" Kace announced. " But we've gotta move fast. It's all the way at the other side of the house."

Smirking like the cat who got the canary without the evidence to prove it, John lowered his gun. " Lead the way Kace."

" Gladly."

Harl was never even given the chance to splutter out his shock when the marine jerked him around to follow the rest of the team. John hung back to take up point at the rear. They moved fast through the over-sized corridors, shooting glances out the windows toward the woods and open yards. So far the wraith appeared to be keeping to the trees, which confirmed what John had been suspecting. The wraith were spreading out, keeping to the shadows and the woods, waiting for the signal to go and start culling and feeding. And with no Atlantean team to present to the wraith queen, the signal would probably come within the next ten minutes. Unless the queen liked to watch her meals beg, then fifteen at most.

 _But where are all the guards_? Not counting the ones inside already taken out (still unconscious thanks to Ronon's stunner) John should have caught sight of a human prowling around outside, maybe even slinking toward the woods to check out the shadowed forms of wraith illusions.

At the next window, a flash of blue light made John flinch. Screw the signal, they were acting now.

" Almost there!" Kace called. They broke into a run, tearing through the halls that were completely empty. One more pass by a massive window revealed four wraith making their unhindered way toward the house.

" I think it would be smart if we stayed away from the windows," John said.

A blast, and shattering glass, echoed sharply toward them, sounding closer than (John hoped) it probably was.

Kace led them through large double doors on the left, into a wide corridor carpeted in blue that muffled their thumping footfalls. They didn't stop until they came to another set of double doors of dark wood. Both Kace and Ronon yanked them open, ushering the rest into a darkened room. The lights of P-90s flashing around the massive room showed them several large padded easy chairs around a fire place, and empty shelves that might have held books or antiques at one time. The dust was thick, rising up in spiraling clouds with each foot touching the floor.

" Over here," Kace said, heading to the left hand corner in a large space between two book cases. Kace crouched and felt around the wooden panels of the wall, knocking on them until one sounded hollow. He dug his fingernails into the panel until it popped and dropped away, revealing a brass colored lever that Kace pulled and released. There was a click, and a square of floor thumped and slid away.

Kace spread his hands out toward it. " And there you go. But only one at the time. The way down's a little narrow."

" Lorne, McAllister, you two first," John said, heading back to the door to peer out. " Then Harl."

Lorne cast the beam of his light into the hole, then clipped his weapon and turned to lower himself into yawning blackness. John remained by the door, looking between his team and the hall that remained empty with blasts and shattering glass still a ways off. Harl was being an ass by taking his sweet time slipping into the hole, even with his hands now free, until Ronon put his foot on the man's shoulder and shoved him in. The man yelped going down, and John couldn't help a grin. The scientists went in next one at a time, though McKay went to join John by the door, LSD in hand. Ronon also came in on the surveillance party, stepping out into the hall.

" McKay, get back to the hole. You're next."

Rodney gave him a heavy lidded look. " Oh don't you even. I go after you go or Carson's jabbing me with every needle in his collection. Besides, what did I tell you while you were puking your guts inside out? No leaving you behind, which includes not allowing you to go down dark, scary holes last."

" He's got a point," Ronon rejoindered.

John couldn't have argued if he wanted to, so instead smiled. " Can't blame a guy for trying."

" We can take care of ourselves," Ronon said, then gestured at John's casted arm. " You need a little help. I think this is what you call a no-brainer."

" Precisely," McKay said keeping his eyes glued to the LSD screen.

After the scientists, the marines went next.

McKay looked up from his screen to the hole and the bodies slipping into it, then at Sheppard and smiled. " You're next."

John shoved his gun into his waist band. " Actually, I stick with you going first. I'll come after, then Ronon can follow. _No argument_."

McKay held up both hands, already heading over to the hole. " Fine, whatever. I'd just better see your narrow ass coming in after."

When the last marine vanished, McKay turned and carefully crouched to ease himself into the hole. He slid in on his stomach an inch at a time feet first like someone creeping into icy water.

" Today, McKay," John growled. He had to be proud of himself for hiding his urgency to get down that hole and away from this house. He was acutally starting to feel claustrophobic in this place, which McKay would never let him live down if he found out.

" Give me a moment," Rodney mumbled, shoving the LSD into his pocket. He continued to inch, sweat beading on his forehead to slide down his face. He then stilled and brightened. " Oh, there's a ladder."

Rodney looked up, mouth open, ready to speak, when his eyes bulged and his jaw went slack. " What the...? Look out!"

What happened after happened at once and fast. John and Ronon weren't given time to whirl around when an elbow struck Ronon's face, sending him stumbling back, and something cold and sharp flashed striking down at Sheppard's back. Stinging fire ripped through Sheppard's flesh, going deep to the bone and extending from his shoulder blade to the second to the last floating rib. He screamed, arching his back and dropping to his knees. An arm wrapped across his throat and pulled back and up, forcing him onto his feet. And out of the corner of his eye, he saw a secondary flash of light off metal – the glint of a sharp-edged knife.

" Stay back!" The blood-freezing familiarity of the voice had John's heart lurching in his chest. John looked at Rodney, the physicist's face unreadable in the dark but visible thanks to its complete lack of color. Darting his eyes to Ronon, he didn't have to see the runner's face to know that he was seething.

Gorek started moving backward, and Ronon rose, moving with him. Even Rodney climbed back out of the hole.

" I said stay back!"

" We are!" Rodney snapped with both hands raised.

" I think he means quit following him," John gritted out, panting from the pain and the arm trying to cinch around his neck.

" We're not leaving you here," Ronon growled, but had stopped moving when the bloodied knife was pressed against John's neck over the pulse.

" Yeah," Rodney replied. " Irony, bad luck, life, all that crap. Remember? I said we wouldn't leave you behind and, hell, what do you know, we're not."

" Geez, McKay, bad time to have been listening to me. I meant we all get out together, not all end up dead together."

Ronon took a step when Gorek was nearer to the doors. " We're not leaving you here."

" Yes you are!" Gorek barked.

Hot blood was pouring down John's back to his pants, soaking into his clothes, and there was a cold, uncomfortable pressure at his hip...

 _Duh, gun you moron._ John pulled his hand from Gorek's arm, letting it drop then slowly moving it to the gun.

" Actually, knowing them, they'll just keep following us until the wraith suck us dry. So might as well just kill me because none of us are going to survive this..."

" Sheppard!" McKay tried to snarl, but – as always – it came out an octave too close to a whine.

John wrapped his fingers around the weapon and with the same methodical motion slipped it from his pants. He kept it point straight down, moving it back until his hand made contact with Gorek's thigh. He angled the gun back, and finally pulled the trigger.

The gun fired and Gorek screamed, stumbling back, dropping the knife and releasing John. John whirled in time to see Gorek – face caked in blood – recovering enough from the shot in his shin to bellow out and charge John in the madness of one knowing their defeated but refusing to go down until they take someone with them. But he didn't get more than two steps when he jerked to a stop, looking momentarily stunned, until finally crumpling lifeless to the floor.

Stunned himself, John looked to his right to see Ronon standing beside him with his own weapon raised, and apparently not on stun. A hand clapping on John's shoulder made him flinch, jerking him around to look at a white-faced Rodney gradually regaining color.

" See? We're still alive, you're still here... What say we leave now?"

John, unable to speak thanks to a heart beating too fast and making it difficult to breathe, nodded in reply. The three men turned heading to the tunnel. John stumbled, not enough to fall, but enough to get both Ronon and Rodney to grab his arms.

" I'll go first," Rodney said, " to make sure he doesn't drop the rest of the way down. Ronon, you go after Sheppard for the same reason."

Ronon nodded.

Rodney went to his hands and knees and eased himself feet first into the hole. He lowered himself onto his stomach to slide the rest of the way inch by inch until his feet found purchase with the ladder.

John, still panting, shook his head. " Take your sweet time, McKay. I'm sure the wraith are doing the same."

" Shut up."

When McKay's head vanished, Sheppard turned and crouched, going one foot at a time into the hole starting with the top ladder rung and working his way down until his hand could grip the top rung. For him, it was a featful endeavor, stepping down, then jumping his one good hand from one rung to the next, then stepping down again. He could hear both McKay's quick breathing, Ronon's deeper breathing, and his own harsh breathing sounding hollow in the close confines. Glancing down, John caught the narrow beams of light dancing spasmodically along the wider floors and walls.

On reaching the bottom by jumping from the last few rungs, John straightened to find the tunnel a hell of a lot more spacious than the one he and Kace had escaped through at that bakery or whatever it had been. High rock walls, high ceilings, all enough to keep McKay from giving into absolute claustrophobic insanity. Although the dancing lights did betray the physicist's face to be a couple of shades toward white. Breathing went from hollow to echoing sharply, and cool air was absorbed by the heatless but still wet blood on John's back, making him shiver.

" That everyone?" Came Kace's voice.

" Everyone who counts," Ronon replied. John heard a click, then the grate of stone against stone as the trap door slid shut, thunking into place.

" Where does this tunnel go?" Lorne asked.

Kace replied, " All over the place. To the woods, to town, even the chief Commander's. It's the biggest tunnel out of the bunch and even joins up with a few others."

" So which way do we go?" McKay asked next.

" The town," John answered. " It's closer and the jumper would have an easier time finding us if we can't make it back."

So they headed up the tunnel at a fast walk with the only noise their footfalls, breathing, and Harl's occasional whimpers. It was easy enough going with the tunnel perfectly straight until they came to a fork in the road. John could see the light of P-90s flashing off of Kace's head as he swiveled it between the two until settling for the one on the right.

" This way." And they started off again.

John took long strides to keep up, but couldn't get beyond being the last in the throng. Shuddering had become constant shivering, and he let his jaw hang slack in order to suck in enough air. He could feel thin tendrils of blood tickling down his back. The bleeding may have lessened, but it hadn't entirely stopped. His increasingly heavy feet snagged a small crack in the path, and he stumbled, about to go plowing face first into unrelenting ground, when strong fingers wrapped around his arm to steady him.

" Thanks," John gasped.

" We should stop," Ronon growled. " Take care of that injury."

John shook his head, even if the runner couldn't see it in the dark. " No, not yet. Not yet..."

" Sheppard," McKay hissed. " Don't be an idiot..."

" We're on the edge of town," Kace announced.

John grinned. " see?"

" I think Weir's right, Telepathy is contagious," McKay grumbled.

John grinned again, but didn't have the breath to chuckle. They went a ways further until they came to a ladder climbing up into the darkness toward thin lines of light forming a square. In the near silence the rise and fall wail of the alarms could be discerned.

" Huh," Kace said, looking about. " Should be more people here. Probably – hopefully – they're further up the tunnel. But I don't sense anyone..." He turned to Teyla. " Any wraith around?"

Teyla nodded stiffly. " Yes, many, all throughout the town."

" Then where the drall is everyone?" Kace snarled. Then he stiffened. " Oh, there they are. Word to the wise. I suggest you find a way to keep his judgeship's mouth shut or we're in a world of chaos. We've got folks coming in fast."

Harl opened his mouth, whether to protest or cry for help never determined when the marine holding him clocked him over the head with the butt of his 9 mil. Harl crumpled to the floor, and Lorne with another marine dragged him against the wall, propping him up with Lorne pulling a field dressing from his vest and wrapping it around the man's head.

Kace chuckled. " Beautiful. That should do nicely."

The thin lines of light marking the trap door vanished when the door was pulled away to reveal a blinding square of light. Frantic voices, some crying, some arguing, others gibbering, and one cursing, spilled into the tunnel. The light became partially blocked by bodies clamoring down the ladder, a few with lanterns tied to ropes slung over their shoulders. Two men armed with rifles came first, dropping the rest of the way and bringing their weapons around on noticing the Lanteans. They relaxed at seeing only human faces, but there was still tension by the way they gripped their guns until their knuckles were white.

A tall, broad shouldered man looked the Lanteans over until his gaze fell on the unconscious Harl. Paling, the man rushed over to the judge's side and knelt beside him.

" Chief judge!" He looked at the Lantean's accusingly. " What has happened to him?"

" Got hit in the head during escape," Ronon replied. Leave it to the Satedan to tell the truth without giving the whole truth away.

" He'll be all right," Lorne said, and John caught his quiet tone of disgust. " Truthfully, he's lucky that's all he got... the wraith were coming in fast."

" Seen any wraith down here?" The big man asked. Everyone shook their head no.

The second man, shorter, younger, and fidgeting nervously, looked up at the trap door. " All clear!"

Children came down next, ten in all of varying ages, then came the women, two with infants cradled to their chests in cloth wraps, then finally the men and young men. John had lost count, but he guessed the number to be around twenty or so all together. They were out of breath, shivering, and pressing against the walls away from the trap door. A bearded man, second to the last to go down, stalked straight up to a tall, thin haired man, shoving his face into the taller man's personal space and pointing with a rigid, shaking finger at the trap door.

" Blast it all, Syrel, I could have brought them. They were right next door!"

" Keb," Syrel sadly replied, " the wraith are crawling all over the place. You might have gotten in going the back way, but returning with that many people would have given you away and you'd all be dead. Jeth isn't a fool. He'll have gone up into the attic with the rest of the family. If they stay there, don't make any noise, they should be fine."

" But you know the stories about how wraith can pop into a place like spirits. They're right next door, Syrel. A quick run and I'll have 'em in."

" And risk giving us away in the end? Have you lost your senses Keb? You'll get us all killed!"

" I can't leave him, he's my brother!"

McKay leaned in toward John. " Actually, if they keep talking any louder I think we'll be lunch before lunch time," he whispered

As though in agreement, someone hissed out a shush. The argument continued, but in quieter tones, until Keb threw up his hands and turned away, passing his hand over his face, probably to wipe away the moisture shimmering in his eyes before the tears could fall. He turned again, giving John a profile view. The man was rigid, with hands on hips and chin quivering as he fought back the flooding sorrow trying to smother him.

If Keb's kin was still out there, it meant others could be as well. John shot a look of pure hatred to the unconscious Harl, muttering a harsh 'stupid bastard' before turning to face McKay.

" You still got that device I told you to take?"

McKay snorted. " Yes. And thank you so much for the extra weight. Like my pack wasn't uncomfortable enough."

John held out his hand. " Give it to me."

" Why?"

John rolled his eyes. " What are you, my mom? Just humor me."

McKay gave John a suspicious once over, then brought his pack around to dig through it until the round device was produced. He slapped it in John's hand, and John gripped it in both palms until it blinked to life, causing McKay to take an uneasy, involuntary step back.

" Uh, Sheppard? Have we yet to get the little lesson of playing with unknown devices blown or electrocuted into our brain?"

John smiled without taking his eyes from the device. " Actually, this one came with instructions."

McKay, unease lost to be replaced by immediate fascination, stepped forward. " Instructions?"

" Yeah. Well, not the written kind. More like having memorized them and just remembered them, which happens every time I touch the thing. It's like, um... like the Ancient version of a wraith illusion and flash-bang combined. Press this red light, roll this in the opposite direction of where you want to go, and it creates holograms that should have wraith flocking to it like rats to a carcass."

Rodney grimaced. " Oh, lovely."

" Isn't it? It even lets you mentally program your own illusion." John concentrated until he felt the thing vibrate, and the lights began blinking randomly. Grinning with satisfaction, John made his unsteady way toward the front where Keb had took up pacing and glancing at the trap door as though planning to make a run for it.

" Hey," John said. " Uh, Keb right?"

Keb looked at John with unconcealed hostility. " What?"

John held up the device. " Wanna get your brother?"

SGA

A/N: More exciting things to come.


	21. Just Wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The Internet has been severely punished. Let that be a lesson to all Internet sites. Also I would like to add that the end of chapter 20 had been cut off. Not that you really missed anything vital, but I thought I'd let you know if you wish to finish those last two bits of dilalogue that have no real importance whatsoever in the long run. Let us be a lesson to us all – never rush.

A/N: The Internet has been severely punished. Let that be a lesson to all Internet sites. Also I would like to add that the end of chapter 20 had been cut off. Not that you really missed anything vital, but I thought I'd let you know if you wish to finish those last two bits of dilalogue that have no real importance whatsoever in the long run. Let us be a lesson to us all – never rush.

  
**21**   


Lorne was first to climb the ladder, And Ronon followed, then Keb, some guy named Friez, and another marine. Ronon arched his neck back then to the side trying to catch a glimpse of the LSD screen. The screens glow outlined Lorne's face in a profile silhouette, and that was all Ronon could see. Then Major Lorne lifted his hand high enough to open the trap door a hairline crack. Two seconds count and he was putting the device between his teeth to climb the rest of the way up and slipping through the door without opening it all the way. Ronon quickly followed, with the rest making the rungs ring out behind. They emerged in some kind of large store room that would have been completely empty except for a pile of bulging grain sacks in one corner and several barrels in another.

Both Ronon and Lorne slipped without sound to the door across the way, staying in a crouch with Lorne holding the LSD before him. With his other hand he reached up to the handle, inching the door open, looking, then opening it enough to slip out. Ronon moved fast even in a crouch to come after into what looked to be...

The bar. Ronon grinned, wishing McKay could see this. Hunkering behind the bar beside Lorne, Ronon caught the questioning look on the Major's face.

" Good drinks here," Ronon whispered. " Just ask McKay."

Lorne smirked back at that.

When the others joined them, Lorne crept to one side of the bar, Ronon the other, peering around through the forest of table and chair legs. Seeing no booted wraith feet, Ronon rose enough to see over the tables to the windows. A shadowed shape, wraith tall with a head made oversized by long ratty hair, glided past, pausing to peer in. Ronon ducked back enough not to be seen but still able to see the wraith shape move on. Ronon turned his head and upper body enough to look at Lorne. Lorne looked back at Ronon, jerked a thumb at himself, pointed to Ronon, then flashed two hand signals – one telling Ronon to wait, the other requesting cover fire should it come down to that. Then Lorne slipped around the bar, still in a crouch, moving silent and steady enough to impress Ronon. The 'Lantean soldiers may have had their flaws, but they also had their skills.

On reaching the tavern doors, Lorne pulled the blinking round thing from his pack, checked the LSD, waited, then eased the door open enough to lean forward and hurl the ball across the ground with everything he had. Again he waited, and only lesser seconds passed when Ronon's ears caught the distinct, familiar whine and blast of wraith stunners. Lorne crept back behind the bar, all smiles.

" That thing is awesome," he said in a normal voice level. " Come on."

Even with the distraction in play, they stayed crouched to move along the wall to the door on the far right hand side of the bar. Once gathered around it. Lorne took a quick glance at the LSD then opened the door to go first. Outside in the twilight back alley they were able to straighten, and moved right, keeping to the back wall of the tavern, heading away from the very inn the 'Lantean team had stayed in what felt like an eternity ago. On coming to the end of the wall, they halted, with Lorne peering around. With a curt nod, he tore across the opening of the narrow alley between the two buildings. With another check into that alley, he signaled Ronon to follow. Even moving fast Ronon was able to catch sight of what was going on, and cocked an eyebrow at what looked to be more 'Lantean marines crouched in alleys or darting in and out of buildings, with wraith firing and never hitting a single one.

Tons of wraith, flocking – as Sheppard had put it – like rats to a carcass. And thanks to a book full of pictures of earth animals, Ronon understood the comparison, and had to agree with it.

On reaching the other side, Lorne signaled for the next person to follow, then the next, checking each time. But the wraith were happily occupied with the human created illusion.

The back door to the three story building was locked, but nothing Ronon couldn't pick with the thin-bladed knife he kept hidden in the lining of his coat. The lock clicked, and after a quick check with the LSD they all bolted inside, back to crouching in another store room, far smaller and cluttered with bolts of material and half-finished dresses, suits, and hats. Another door, not locked, another check, and on creeping out they were once again gathered behind a counter.

" Now for the fun part," Lorne breathed, and jerked his chin toward the stairs. They moved the length of the counter toward those stairs. Lorne peeked around it, craning his neck, rising a bit, then dashed for the steps, clamoring quickly up with the rest following as though joined by an invisible tether. Lorne was about to step onto the landing when he halted so suddenly that Ronon collided into him, bowling him over at the same time a white-blue blast ripped through the air, nearly grazing the major's back by less than inches. Ronon arched back then whipped his weapon around to burn the air with a few blasts of his own right into a wraith drone's chest. The wraith fell back, but a second stepped over the first with stunner about to go off, only to have a rapid succession of bullets tear its chest to shredded meat, the explosive spat of Lorne's P-90 making Ronon's ears buzz.

Only when a fist sized hole had been punctured into the wraith's chest did Lorne stop and the wraith crumple on top of its buddy. Ronon slung his weapon back over his shoulder, then bent to grab Lorne by the collar of his vest and haul the smaller man to his feet. With a heavy pat on the man's back that almost had him toppling again, Ronon stepped around, pulling out his far larger and more favorite knife from the sheath in his boot. He knelt beside the two wraith, and slit their throats deep enough to rip their heads off the rest of the way if he wanted to, black blood spurting and coating Ronon's hands.

The two townsfolk made their way around Ronon and the dead wraith warily, into the narrow hall, checking bedrooms for more wraith, then stopping beneath what looked to be a door in the ceiling.

" Jeth!" Keb called. " Jeth, you up there? Come on, Jeth, answer me!"

The ceiling creaked, and Ronon caught the thump and shuffle of movement.

" That you Keb?"

" No, it's a wraith that sounds like me. 'Course it's me! Get down here now so we can get to the tunnel. We don't have much time."

More shuffling, creaking, and thumping, then the door in the ceiling groaned open and a ladder slid down. A stocky man of medium height with a semi-similar appearance to Keb emerged first toting a rifle slung over his shoulder. He turned to Keb, both men with relief plain as daylight on their faces, and quickly embraced his brother. But Keb pushed his brother back.

" Jeth, what is _wrong_ with you! I told you there was a tunnel next to where you lived."

" What do you mean? I checked. I couldn't find Ilak's tunnel and he wasn't there."

" Not Ilak! Murt's! The bar!"

" Well I was heading there next but the wraith darts were already over head and I panicked..."

Lorne cleared his throat loudly, and both men's head snapped around to look at him.

" We'll discuss it later," Keb said. " Get your family down here."

Said and done, Jeth's family – a blond woman in a red skirt and white shirt that had to be his wife, a teenage boy, adolescent girl, and two more girls and another boy all under the age of twelve climbed down. Once on the floor and turned, the young eyes went immediately to the two wraith oozing puddles of black blood. The youngest child, a four year old girl, turned and buried her small face into her mother's skirt with a fearful whimper.

" That everyone?" Ronon asked. Jeth nodded nervously. Ronon brought his weapon around and turned back to the stairs. " Let's go then." And he hurried down the stairs behind Lorne. On reaching the bottom, and just before the dart to hide behind the counter, Ronon chanced a brief look outside, and saw the wraith surrounding a single wraith holding up a sparking metallic ball. Then Ronon was behind the counter with his back pressed to the smooth wood.

" We've got a problem," he growled. Lorne, inserting a new clip and panting, nodded.

" So I've noticed."

SGA

Rodney watched the last man slide himself through the trap door into what Rodney was fairly certain would be a suicide mission. But he wouldn't say anything, especially not to Sheppard. When the trap door was back to being shut, he turned to the Colonel, looking him over with a critical eye. He honestly hoped it was the weak light of the lanterns making him look worse than he really was. He was already sunken eyed and hollowed cheek, but it was appearing a hell of a lot worse as though both eyes had been bruised. He was leaning his shoulder against the wall, both arms folded tightly across his chest as though conserving warmth, and his breathing sounded uncomfortably labored.

Then there was his combination expression of pain and bone deep worry, which was the real reason Rodney said nothing about this rescue attempt for people they didn't even know. Having to stay behind was eating the Colonel alive, not because it meant he couldn't play the hero, not because he craved the action, but because he was the 'don't send a man on a mission you're not willing to go on yourself' kind of guy who really did keep his men from going on a mission he couldn't go on himself. Conflicting with that was his leave no man behind policy which included civilians, especially families, whether they knew them or not.

Actually, Sheppard had been quite rearing to go, then had taken one step forward with knees buckling and trying to take him to the ground. Teyla had had to hold him back, with Ronon, Lorne and one of the marines volunteering without question or hesitation, and Keb and some other townfolk pleading their case to come along by pointing out that Jeth would never come out from hiding to strangers. There had been no fear, only resolve, with everyone quite ready to meet whatever maker they believed in to save a man and his family.

Sheppard didn't argue with them, didn't try to talk them out of it or to talk them into letting him come. McKay liked to give Sheppard the title of idiot, but did not believe for one second that he really was. Sheppard knew good and well that he wouldn't be able to make it, and knew good and well that his desire to help could very well cost his men and the Raal men their lives. And that wasn't sitting well with the Lt. Colonel.

Sheppard cared too much, that was his problem. Lives were his responsibility, and if anyone had to die he preferred it to be himself. And nothing affected him with the force of a punch in the gut with a sledgehammer more than someone who was his responsibility dieing because of his decisions.

Rodney got Sheppard more than he let on, and the only reason he never let on was to continue having someone to vent frustrations on when that someone was being maddeningly frustrating. Rodney understanding Sheppard's reasoning didn't mean he had to like it. If calling Sheppard a fool for running head first in to danger without regard to how everyone worried when he did actually helped in saving his life, then call him a fool McKay would.

Not today, though. Well, not even lately. Rodney felt no annoyance for Sheppard's desire to wanting to take part in the rescue. Rodney chalked it up to being tired while at the same time wired, but he felt sad for Sheppard. Too much life-risking in one day for him, and it was taking it's toll.

Plus blood loss was probably not helping. Rodney would have slapped his own forehead, but was feeling rather self conscious around so many people. He went over to Sheppard, stepping behind him, pulling out his miniature flashlight and clicking it on, passing the beam down the slit in Sheppard's shirt. Rodney could feel his own blood draining from his face at the blood darkening Sheppard's already dark shirt.

" Uh, Teyla?" Rodney gulped. Teyla came up beside him with field dressings piled in her arms.

" I know," she said, taking a few hand handing them to McKay. " I do not know if we have enough. I gathered as much as I could from those present." She draped the ones she had over her shoulder in order to free her hands to pull apart the rip in John's shirt. John hissed out a breath of pain, and Rodney hissed out a breath of sympathy. The gash was deep in some parts, deep enough to show bone what with his skin being so thin and all, and was still dribbling out thin streams of blood. Rodney's gut roiled in disgust and terror, but he managed to dredge up some small comfort in knowing that the ribcage had done its job in protecting the organs.

" Colonel," Teyla said in a tight voice. " Perhaps you should sit."

John never took his eyes from the trap door as he slid to the floor in a huddle. " Yeah, maybe I should," he mumbled.

Teyla ripped the back of the shirt open the rest of the way and peeled the wet halves sticking to John's back aside. Together, they pressed the dressings over the wound, layering them on top of eachother, causing John to tense, hiss in pain, and shudder. Rodney held the dressings in place as Teyla tied them around John, going beneath the shirt. John straightened as best he could each time, which caused him even more pain, and at one point uttering a broken cry.

" Do I know you?"

Rodney snapped his head up and his gaze went past John's shoulder to the tall, broad form looming over John but staring at Rodney. Rodney swallowed. He had thought he'd been doing a fairly good job of avoiding the man. Chances were, this was Sheppard's fault for having cried out in pain and attracting attention. Okay, Rodney's fault or Teyla's for causing that pain at that moment. But like blame really mattered in the long run. What mattered was that Rodney might very well be screwed.

" Uh... know who?"

The big man rubbed his jaw slowly, thoughtfully, a face bruise free as though the bar fight had never occurred. Now if only the mind could erase such memories so perfectly.

" You. You look really familiar and it's driving me crazy. Normally I'm good at placing names to faces but..."

Rodney snapped his head down as though focusing on his simple task of holding the dressings in place, and noticed his own hand to be shaking. " Um, sorry pal, can't help you. A little busy at the moment if you can't tell."

" Oh come now. Help me out here. Your face really is familiar, I just can't remember... Hey..."

Rodney cringed.

" I do know you."

He then squeezed his eyes shut, tensing.

" Yeah. I remember. You're that drunk guy, the guy yelling about that friend who took on a hive ship or something. The one who died. You called him stupid or an idiot or something..."

At this, John's head turned to give Rodney a raised eyebrow of suspicion

" Then you jumped me. Yeah, you jumped me. You're that guy. Hey Brel, this is that guy I was telling you about."

Panic raced down Rodney's spine like electric ice, and he darted his gaze up to see another burly guy step up beside the first guy, this one rather like Bluto from Popeye, complete with the thick dark beard and beady eyes.

" Him?" Bluto asked skeptically.

" Yeah I know," said the first guy with minor disdain. " But he was affected at the time and you know what Murt's drink can do to folk."

Rodney's heart beat fit to break out of his chest. Neither over-sized farm hand was looking too happy as they looked him over, growing less happy in doing so. Rodney was very in favor of bolting when inspiration struck.

" Uh, wait. The, uh, guy I was talking about? The one who took on the hive ships. Well... guess what?" Rodney laughed hysterically. " He's not dead! This is him, right here, this is the guy." He grabbed John's head, turning it, then lifting it. " Yep, meet Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, wraith killer and hive destroyer, in the flesh and at the moment trying to bleed out. So if you don't mind, I'd really like to get back to saving my friend before he dies for real this time."

Rodney turned as much of his attention as he could back to placing and holding the dressings. There was a moment of silence, then, " You're really the man who took on a hive ship?"

McKay glanced up, just or a brief glimpse, but doing a double take at seeing John's withering gaze fixed like a laser on him over the shoulder.

" If you want to call it that?" John said, voice muffled by his shoulder.

" Well this friend of yours called you an idiot for doing so."

John's eyes narrowed. " Did he now?"

Rodney swallowed, then did what he did best – fight fire with anger. " Look I was drunk, depressed, pissed and needed to take it out on someone. All right? I didn't really mean anything by it. Okay, maybe at the time I did, but I take it all back and admit that, yes, it wasn't fair what with your not being around to defend yourself because you were a little busy being tortured and all. I'm a self-centered SOB, yadda yadda yadda so can we get over it and get on with life?"

Rodney was about to return to stopping the bleeding when he realized that John's expression had changed. The Colonel was smiling, his eyes shining with his old mischief.

" So I'm not an idiot?"

Rodney's usual irritation couldn't shine forth thanks to the relief at finally seeing what he considered to be the complete old John. But irritation still managed to nudge its way through. " No," he murmured, " but you are a jerk."

" I like you too, McKay."

Bluto gestured at Sheppard. " Need any help there?"

" More bandages would be nice," McKay said, trying to adjust the few dressings to cover all of the massive gash. Several dressings were already soaking through with blood.

Bluto turned and waved someone over. " Mria, you bring that first aid kit?"

A husky woman surrounded by four urchins parted the milling crowd. " Someone hurt?"

" This man needs some bandages. He's loosing blood."

Snapping at the kids to stay back, thus getting them to scatter over to Bluto, the big-boned woman made her way around back and gasped.

" That poor man. What happened? Actually, never mind, not important." She knelt beside Teyla, practically shoving McKay aside and back. With a glare the lady didn't even notice, Rodney stood and placed himself behind the two women. Mria set a wooden box in front of her and opened it to pull out three rolls of cloth.

" If healer Dorm were here, he'd be able to sew this up nicely. I'm sure he'd be happy to do so once this fray has ended and as long as no one else is hurt."

Teyla looked up at McKay. " We may need to if the bleeding does not slow."

Rodney nodded in agreement. Two of the dressings were sodden and starting to drip.

Mria was far superior in being gentle about wrapping on the bandages than McKay had been, with Sheppard not even flinching. Rodney's impression of her was of a tough old broad who probably had the capability of cracking a few wraith skulls before they could take her down. A mother bear protecting cubs kind of woman, but showing nothing but her motherly side as she helped Teyla with John, voicing sympathy and concern over how thin John looked, about all the scars on his back, how he was shaking, yet never asking how all these injuries – recent and old – came about. She called him 'you poor thing' and patted him lightly on the shoulder blade.

John had been right. These people really didn't deserve being punished for their leader's stupidity.

Light suddenly spilled from the trap door only to be subdued by the bodies filing down the ladder; kids first, then parents, and finally the rest with Lorne coming last. John's hand shot out to the wall to help him in his attempt to rise only to be shoved back to the floor by Mria's strong hand.

" Any problems?" John asked.

" Two wraith, sir, quickly dispatched. No one followed us but the device was found and destroyed. The wraith started spreading out and I managed to see a couple heading toward the tavern."

" I suggest we keep it down," Ronon rumbled, coming up beside Rodney. People gasped, whispers skittering through the tunnel. Then silence was slapped over everything as though someone had hit the mute button. Far above, the floorboards creaked, and heavy feet clomped, raining dust down on everyone's head. A child whimpered only to be severely shushed, and the locals moved to cower against the wall as though fearing the ceiling would come down around them. Sheppard leaned even more heavily against the cool wall, which increased his shivering. Teyla moved with muted grace from behind him to beside him and pulled him to lean against her, one arm hugging him across the shoulders.

John's head fell limply onto her shoulder, but his eyes never wavered from the trap door, and his hand shook gripping his gun.

SGA

Sereeka squinted up at the thin amber lines marking the location of the trap door in the darkness. The weak shaft barely squeezing through illuminated dust motes drifting lazily like leaves in a lake. Floorboards creaked under heavy footfalls, footfalls clunking closer, sending the dust motes into a tizzy when more dust was shaken loose to join in the cloud.

Hissing whispers and whimpers were sharp to her ears, and she spun around, eyes blazing and face contorted in anger. She stalked over to the mass of bodies slowly backing away, with some frozen in a cowering crouch against the wall.

" Do you want to die!" she hissed, barely above a whisper, but audible in the silence. " Keep quiet and do not move!" It had been a struggle keeping the people from darting deeper into the tunnel where they would have come out into the woods. It was purely all flight response with these people that shoved from their minds the very likely possibility of wraith waiting for them at the ring should they leave the safety of the tunnels to flee to another world. Sereeka's mother, standing at the forefront of the crowd and looking more nervous than terrified, had said time and again that survival was better if they stayed put rather than make a run for it. She said it only minutes before to these very people, but fear tended to make folk stupid. Sereeka's father and brother, at the rear taking up guard, were being forced to make threats to anyone who dared tried to flee.

" They are here!" A woman moaned. " They will find us."

" If you keep talking then they certainly will," snapped Sereeka's younger brother. A flickering lantern made the teenage boy's face look gaunt, and the bruise over his eye dark as though the eye were sunken. The price paid for saving lives when he'd tackled an over-sized man trying to make a break down the tunnel.

Sereeka shook her head, wondering why she had even bothered. Now she had no choice in making sure these people didn't give into their panic if she and her family were to survive themselves. But why she had herded them all into the family tunnel to begin with she couldn't fathom. They could have found their own tunnels to hunker down in.

Then, a small smile twitched at the corner of Sereeka's lips.

This was all Kace's fault. Pity was contagious.

More heavy booted feet rained down more dust, and the people shrank further into the wall. Sereeka lifted her rifle to point at the trap door, just in case...

SGA

Elizabeth didn't like guns, the way they felt, what they implied, but that didn't stop her from holding the nine mil tight enough for her knuckles to go white. She had her shoulder pressed against the cockpit wall next to the entrance, leaning just enough to see out the rear hatch to the open lawn stretching far to the mansion. Two marines were crouched by the wall of the hatch with P-90s aimed. Whenever a wraith walked by, their corpse skin and bleached hair bright against the dark green lawn, she could see the mens' bodies shift with sudden tension like tightly coiling wires. Elizabeth flinched herself, heart slamming into jackhammer speed. But it was the wraith that came close, within inches of the door, that had her heart either diving for cover into her stomach, or trying to squeeze into her throat.

Then came one who stopped, inches away, with head raised like a hound catching the scent. The marines' bodies coiled again, and Elizabeth's heart seemed to stop, her breath along with it, suspended in eternity. The wraith's head moved methodically as it searched its surroundings. It was a drone, like the others, with a mask that looked to be made of dried, decrepit flesh hiding its face. Elizabeth had never realized it before, but wraith smelled. It wasn't an overwhelming stench – or perhaps would be had she been closer – but a small breeze brought to her the faint but repugnant oder of metallic blood, decay, and sweat.

 _Do wraith even sweat?_ Or maybe it was human sweat garnered from a recent victim during a recent feeding. Elizabeth found it odd to the point of wanting to laugh hysterically the thoughts that flitted through her mind as panic tightened in her chest.

Then, finally, the wraith moved on, and everybody in the jumper sagged as they unwound, Elizabeth finally inhaling, wondering why she hadn't passed out from lack of air.

But her heart still thudded. She wanted with a desire that hurt to contact the team, see if they made it out, if they were hiding and safe. But she wasn't stupid and she had yet to ever give way to panic. So she gripped the gun until her palm ached and her hand shook, saying a mental prayer for the team's safety, and that she wouldn't have to shoot anything.

SGA

Rodney crouched, and removed his vest and jacket with a frustrating slowness as though he were moving underwater, trying to keep the material or zipper from making a sound that would give them away. Above them, the floor continued to creak, and the heavy feet thumped.

When Rodney finally had the jacket removed, he placed it over John's back, adjusting it at the shoulders so it wouldn't fall off. Teyla glanced over her shoulder, and smiled sadly at Rodney. Rodney still had his hands on John's shoulders, felt him quaking, watched his flanks expand and contract with each deep breath, and it made Rodney feel like scum. This wasn't supposed to have happened, Sheppard wasn't supposed to get hurt. Rodney had sworn they'd let nothing happen to the Colonel on the world that was so bent on killing him. And Rodney wondered if it was really the planet itself out to get Sheppard and not just Harl and that Commander guy who was probably dead.

In wider perspective, it was probably all the Colonel's fault for coming in the first place, then coming up with with that bone-headed plan that actually worked. Except how the hell were they supposed to know the wraith would show up so early, or that Gorek would take the time and die just to mete out a little revenge? John had every right to be afraid of coming back here, and if the wraith didn't take the hint and leave right this minute, then Rodney's promise would go nil, and Sheppard would end up dieing on this hell rock after all.

It was cruel. This whole stupid planet was cruel, and it made Rodney shake with rage. He was overcome by the desire to start kicking Harl into a bloody pulp, but had wits enough not to. He just needed someone to blame, and he refused to blame Sheppard, because that would just place him in line with the cruelty. So he placed blame where blame belonged, and satisfied himself picturing the many ways Harl could suffer, lingering on hustling him back down the tunnel to the mansion, and letting the wraith there pick him clean.

A moan yanked Rodney's attention to the very figure the physicist was mentally tormenting now. Harl's head rocked back and forth, and his eyes began to flutter open, his moaning growing louder, turning into incoherent words.

Rodney's whole body went ice rigid and prickled with cold terror. He opened his mouth, but only managed to emit a squeak. Good enough for Ronon to hear and quickly catch on, looking from Rodney then to Harl. Slinging his weapon over his shoulder, he practically leaped at the waking man whose eyes rounded over and mouth opened wide about to speak or cry out. He managed a small, pathetic sound before Ronon got to him, skidding behind into a crouch and clapping his big hand over the man's mouth.

Above, movement stopped.

Harl wriggled, writhed, and tried to talk through the big hand. Ronon tightened his grip on the mouth, causing Harl to squeak.

" You don't keep quiet," Ronon whispered, flat and frigid, " I'll break your neck."

Harl stopped struggling and producing pointless noise. But the movement above didn't return. Everyone went still as stone, and Rodney was certain without a doubt that every heart was pounding as hard as his own, including Sheppard's. The Colonel had lifted his head on an unsteady neck, staring at the ceiling, and turning trying to catch the smallest noise. His sunken eyes were wide in his colorless face; wide and terrified. Rodney squeezed his shoulder in part as reassurance, and in part to keep John from feeling the tremor in his own hand.

Minutes passed like hours, the silence so thick the tempered breaths seemed too loud. Lorne, the marines, and a few townsfolk had their weapons trained on the lines of light marking the trap door. More minutes past, and Rodney felt a little light headed trying to keep his breathing small and quiet.

The floor creaked, and Rodney's heart jumped, his body with it, and felt a muscle in John's shoulder twitch. Silence smothered them again, with another minute passing like an old man with arthritis shuffling across a rather large street. Another creak, another jump, then more creaks and clomps when movement resumed. It milled about above them for a moment longer until the clomping receded away back into the bar. Everyone let out a collective exhale of relief, with every body relaxing enough to let their hammering hearts descend into more tolerable thumping. Rodney felt John's shoulder muscle ease, twitches returning to all out trembling. He lightly patted John's shoulder, then rested his forehead against it, smiling and chuckling softly, a little psychotically, and glad he didn't have anything in his gut to puke up at the moment.

The sound of movement from above did not return, so several marines turned their weapons and lights in either direction of the tunnel. Time crawled by still in that old man manner, and Rodney finally took notice of the heralding effects of his hypoglycemia. He pulled his vest to him, and pulled a power bar out, putting it under his shirt as he opened it to muffle the sound. He ate with no real appetite, just necessity, so didn't finish the whole thing and stuffed the remainder into his pants pocket.

The whole time, Ronon never uncovered Harl's mouth, And Rodney honestly hoped the big man had accidentally broken the little man's jaw.

More time passed. Mria periodically lifted the jacket to check the bandages on John's back, and Teyla periodically took his pulse. His head remained resting on her shoulder, his breathing still labored and more shallow. Teyla looked back at Rodney nervously, conveying escalating to concern without words. Rodney returned the look with one of his own, imagining the myriad of infections that were probably setting in.

About an hour past – Rodney surmised – since the arrival of the wraith; probably more than an hour. John was holding his own now with nothing left that the others could do. Mria had taken to rubbing the uninjured side of John's back to increase warmth, and Teyla his arm.

Suddenly, Teyla's head shot up, glancing, and Rodney stiffened.

" Oh crap what?" he breathed. Teyla looked over her shoulder at him, and smiled.

" They are gone."

Rodney's heart lurched. " What? They are? You're sure?"

" They're presence has been growing distant, and now I can no longer sense them. So, yes, they are gone."

Rodney sighed, slumping. " Finally!"

Every head snapped his way, every eye wide, and a few glaring menacingly. Rodney, however, didn't care, and started laughing.

" No, no, no, it's all right. They're gone. We can leave."

" How do you know?" snapped Bluto.

" I have a gift that allows me to sense the wraith," Teyla explained. " And I know longer sense them. Any of them."

" She's Athosian," Kace said from where he leaned with folded arms against the wall. The panic and angered looks softened, some turning to fascinations, others understanding.

" I've heard about that gift," Mria said. " From my cousin. He's a planet hopper, you see. Does quite a bit of trading and hears quite a few tales..."

Athosian reputation may have eased fears, but everyone chose to remain cautious, sending the armed men up first led by Lorne. Ronon was still busy keeping Harl's mouth shut 'just in case' as he put it. When the all clear sounded, the women and children went up next.

One of the Raal men went over to Ronon, extending a hand down to Harl. " Chief Judge?"

Rodney prickled with sudden fear and anger. Ronon looked to Teyla, who shrugged, then nodded. Ronon released Harl, who took the man's hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. With one last uneasy look over his shoulder, Harl flashed them a superior grin, then hurried to the ladder and through the door. Rodney wanted to protest, to chew Ronon a knew one, but knew good and well that Ronon didn't have a choice with all the locals present to witness everything.

" We are so screwed," he moaned. " Unless we start back down the tunnel now..."

Teyla pulled John's arm across her shoulder. " Colonel Sheppard would not be able to make it, and Major Lorne is already outside. Contact Dr. Weir and tell her to come quickly. Perhaps sight of the jumper will keep the people from taking us." She began to rise, pulling John up with her, his head still resting on Teyla's shoulder, but raising slightly with eyes barely open. Rodney, snapping from his fury fugue, hurried over to take John's other arm. John attempted to take some of his own weight, and managed to do so a little, but his current strength wouldn't be sufficient for getting him up the ladder.

Or that's what Rodney assumed. When they came near the ladder, John moved away from the support, walking shakily but staying upright. He gripped the rungs of the ladder, shaking his head to clear it, then proceeded up, slow, unsteady, scaring the hell out of Rodney, but managing. Teyla followed behind, then Rodney, then Ronon. On nearing the top, two hands reached down and Sheppard took both to be hauled out of the hole. Teyla hurried to follow in case those hands hadn't belonged to their own people.

They had. Everyone was gathered in the large storage room, scientists and marines. The townsfolk were already outside the bar, and peering through the door to the window, Rodney could see them scattering to different buildings to spread the word. Harl remained standing in the middle of the street, staring at the bar, waiting like the leopard for the deer to emerge from the bushes.

Rodney tapped his radio. " McKay to jumper one."

The radio crackled then, " McKay, this is jumper one," came Weir's relieved voice. " Good to hear from you. Is everyone all right?"

" Yeah, we're just peachy... for now. Listen, we need you to get to the town quick, and I mean fast so that not even the inertial dampeners can stop you from feeling the Gs. We're in need of a quick exit. No time to explain."

" Understood, Weir out."

The radio fell silent at the same time Harl and several armed men began heading toward the bar. Rodney paled and backed into the room.

" All right, massive problem here. Harl's already starting the rampage." He turned to the others. " Any plans?"

The scientists exchanged fearful looks, the marines uncertain ones. Ronon brought his weapon around, as did Teyla. Sheppard, now leaning against Ronon with one arm draped across the broad shoulders, and one broad arm around John's slender waist, met Rodney's gaze. And what Rodney saw made an ice chunk form in the pit of his stomach. It was Sheppard's look of resolve, of finality; scared, but ready to do what he had to if it meant everyone else's survival. Rodney hated that look, but more than that it shattered his heart. There was more fear to it than usual, more sorrow. But the resolve held out.

Besides, chances were John would be dead before anything could be done to him. His current state had him looking frail enough to snap if Ronon increased the pressure around John's waist.

" Nothing elaborate people, the jumper'll be here any minute now."

Kace, relaxed, nonchalant, looked around, then started forward, brushing past Rodney to step out into the bar. " Just head on out."

Rodney whirled around. " What!"

Kace hopped over the counter, sliding partially across it to the other side, then turning to face McKay, giving him a wink. " Trust me, Doc McKay. We'll be fine."

Rodney turned back to the others, hoping they shared in his sentiment that Kace was nuts. They seemed to, except for Sheppard who was grinning.

" Trust him, McKay."

Rodney rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, then closed them, swallowing back the welling spring of panic turning his insides cold. " We are so dead."

So they headed out, moving around the bar and tables, then stepping out into the warm sunshine and dusty street already dotted with people emerging from the tunnels. A lot of people, with a large cluster behind Harl who had stopped and backed away just as the Lanteans stepped out.

" That is them. Take them. They must be put under restraint for nearly bringing harm to my person."

Kace waved dismissively as he continued out into the street. " Ease up, your judgeship. If we wanted to bring harm, you'd be wraith lunch by now."

Harl smiled bitterly and shook his head. " A lie. You were going to kidnap me, bring me to your world for torment." He then turned, facing the slowly gathering crowds. " These people are the reason the wraith had come. They were the ones who called to them, bringing them to this world in exchange for the safety of their own world. Only they became trapped here when the wraith appeared early. They wanted you all dead, and only my quick action saved you when I managed to reach the alarm before they could destroy it. They are traitors, back stabbers, and must be punished!"

Whispers skittered over the crowd with uncertain faces looking into uncertain faces. Rodney shot a withering look at Kace.

" We'll be _fine_?" he ground out between gritted teeth.

Kace, still all smiles, raised a placating hand. " Ease up, Doc McKay. Just wait, just wait."

" If they're so friendly with the wraith," came a woman's voice within the crowd, " why didn't they give us up in the tunnel to save their own hide?"

Harl's smirk never wavered. " Because wraith don't make deals. They would have killed them as well."

" Then why did they risk their lives to save my brother," said Keb, stepping from the crowd, Jeth beside him. " Why'd they give us the means, the help?"

" Yeah," jumped in Jeth. " My family and I would have been culled if it hadn't been for them."

Now Harl's smile did waver, because he didn't have the mental capacity for the cleverness it would take to come up with a believable lie.

" Uh..." Harl stammered. " Does it matter?" he finally bellowed. " They tried to kill me. I want them restrained!"

" I think it does matter," said a female voice, and a young woman in a maroon skirt stepped from the crowd, her arms folded tight across her chest and her eyes narrowed dangerously at Harl. " It's always been my impression that most folk from other worlds aren't very inclined to help those who aren't one of them unless they wish something in return." The girl then turned to face the Lanteans expectantly.

It was Teyla who responded. " We want nothing except to return home and save our friend," she said. " He has been severely injured and needs immediate medical attention. Please, do not prevent us from doing this. He will not survive for much longer."

Sheppard's crappy appearance was coming in handy, as several faces – women for the most part, young women and many more of the motherly persuasion – softened into looks of pity.

Kace leaned in a little toward Rodney. " Gotta love pity," he murmured, and Rodney was inclined to agree with him.

Harl's smile was gone, replaced by a frown, with his face turning a lovely shade of rouge. " They are dangerous!" he shrieked. " You cannot believe anything they tell you! It is a ploy to save their own hide! They will bring the wraith back upon us the moment they are gone!"

The girl gave Harl a kind of 'what the hell you moron' look that impressed Rodney.

" Except that if we wanted you dead, you'd be dead," John said suddenly, straightening as much as he could but still leaning heavily against Ronon. " We knew about the tunnels, Harl, or we wouldn't have been able to find yours. If we'd wanted the wraith to wipe you out, then we would have told them about the tunnels. You'd be dead by now, all of us would be. So I suggest you quit while you're ahead here. You're just digging your own grave."

Rouge deepened to purple, and Harl's mouth worked up and down like a gasping fish. " They... They were going to kill me..." he tried, lamely.

" And yet you're still alive," John growled in disgust. " When we could have just left you to the wraith, we had to drag your whiny ass all the way with us, only to have you nearly give us away."

Harl blinked rapidly with mouth still working. Then in a last ditch effort, he pointed a rigid, shaking finger at John. " He... he's an escaped convict." Then moved his finger to Kace. " They both are!"

He was met with silence say for a cough and dirt scraping from someone shifting.

Then the girl rolled her eyes. " You're a fool, Harl. Besides, why should we believe anything else you have to say? Personally, I have yet to hear a single truth from you."

Several murmured in agreement.

" When my son was released from his ten day confinement," piped a woman, " you said he got the bruises from a fellow inmate, but he says he was in a cell alone."

" You gave me a month in prison for a fight," said a man, " and I know I was only supposed to get a week."

" You're useless Harl," said another man. " You put my brother away even with proof that he hadn't been the one to take that wagon."

More murmurs of agreement, with several waving their hands in dismissal and beginning to depart. The crowd began to disperse, leaving Harl purple faced and gaping with his jaw nearly to the ground.

" Plus that man took on a wraith hive ship," added the familiar voice of Rodney's bar fight victim, before he also moved on.

Harl searched around for a modicum of support.

" Just give it up," John said, his voice weakening and his legs shaking. " You're screwed. Your thugs are probably all culled, and no one wants you around. I'd slink off before we decide to spread a little rumor concerning who really brought the wraith."

That was enough for Harl, and he took off running up the street with the hem of his robe raised.

The girl, still lingering, looked from Harl's retreating form to the assembled Lanteans. " Brought the wraith?"

Kace lifted one shoulder. " No worries about that. It's not really important not anymore." Kace then walked up to the girl, and the two embraced. " Good to see you survived Ser."

" Same here, Kace." She released him to lean to the side and regard the Lanteans carefully, John particularly. " I thought you were going to ditch him once you left him some place safe?" She then did a small wave. " Hi Sheppard."

John, smiling, waved weakly back. " Hi Sereeka."

" You're appearance still isn't up to pleasant but I must say your sanity is an improvement."

" You should see me when I am up to pleasant..." his legs gave way then, and Telya moved fast to take his other arm and pull him back up, John's head struggling to stay upright on his weak neck.

" I think that's our cue to depart," Kace said. " I'll drop by when things are a little less frantic. Besides, our ride's waiting."

He turned, facing up the street, and sure enough there stood Weir flanked by two marines, probably only a foot from the cloaked jumper. The Atlanteans moved as one toward the jumper with Teyla and Ronon going first. Elizabeth stepped aside, staring at John's limp form with her face going white, then following after. Everyone piled into the jumper, the marines coming last. The bay doors whined shut, and the jumper quickly left the ground, rising up above the town and surrounding trees. Ronon and Teyla set John chest down on the bench, pulling away Rodney's now blood-stained jacket to see most of the bandages to be nearly soaked.

" What happened?" Elizabeth's voice cracked when she spoke.

" Last minute attack," Ronon succinctly explained.

" Tell jumper two to dial Atlantis," Lorne called to the pilot, who nodded in return.

Elizabeth squeezed her way through the crowded compartment to be at John's head where she knelt. " John?"

John's head moved just a fraction to look up at Weir. He smiled wanly. " Hey."

Elizabeth swallowed tightly and forced a tremulous smile of her own. " You weren't supposed to get hurt, John."

John attempted a shrug, and clenched, hissing in pain. " Ah crap I know. Story of my life really. Stuff happens, you know. Wouldn't be a mission without an injury."

Elizabeth shook her head. " I knew I shouldn't have listened to you."

" Yeah," John said, laughing nervously. " I shouldn't have listened to me either."

SGA

A/N: One chapter and an epilogue remaining then... it's (sniff) over. (sniff)


	22. Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yes folks, not much father left to go. Thanks for the many reviews, and I do mean many. I never thought this story would be so darned enjoyed. But I'm glad it is.

A/N: Yes folks, not much father left to go. Thanks for the many reviews, and I do mean many. I never thought this story would be so darned enjoyed. But I'm glad it is.

  
**22**   


The gate was active when they arrived, with jumper two circling it like a bee hovering around a flower. The IDC was sent, along with a request for a medical team, and when the okay to come through followed, the jumper tilted toward the gate and eased into it. They whipped through the wormhole, and eased out the other side to rise into the jumper bay. The bay doors whined open to Beckett and a med team heading their way with gurneys and supplies. Stackhouse's team left the jumper first and was immediately accosted by several of Beckett's staff. Beckett and a nurse continued on into the less crowded jumper.

John cringed. Beckett was going to be pissed, very very pissed. Not only at John, but at everyone, probably mostly everyone since he'd hammered home the importance of keeping an eye on John into everyone's head. Plus how John was not supposed to take part in the rescue actions that involved infiltration and release. Guilt would have been like acid eating away at John's chest, but sleep was a heavier burden on him, trying to draw his eyelids closed. And he was cold, very cold.

" Oh bloody fires of hell!" Beckett bellowed.

John flinched, then flinched again at cold metal against his blood-slicked skin as scissors cut the bandages. He winced when they were pulled away, biting back a cry at the reawakened pain.

" Oh that's a bloody lovely mess. What the hell happened?"

John angled his head back enough to see Carson kneeling beside him with head turned to Rodney. Rodney, blanched, was wringing his hands together almost fearfully, which made sense since it was Rodney who'd be getting the big needles next inoculation time thanks to life's aptitude for doling out the irony.

" Uh..."

John gathered his waning strength enough to lift his head. " My fault Carson," he slurred slightly. " Things changed, we needed a new plan, and the one I came up with was kind of against your orders. There wasn't much of a choice, but it was all my idea so I'm the one you need to be mad at."

Carson's glare was already on him. " Oh, I am lad, I am. You and I are going to have quite the discussion concerning listening to your bloody doctor when you're stable. Why it's so bloody hard for ya to listen to me..."

John wasn't listening to him now. All noise drifted into the back to become muffled echoes like dream residue. He lost the fight against his heavy eyelids, and let them close.

SGA

 _Ah, good 'ole heart monitor. Music to my ears._ John smirked. He was warm, incredibly, comfortably warm. Those were the first two sensations he came awake to, the third – more like a realization – being that he was lying on his stomach. Fourth was textures, namely that of a gown that covered his front but was open at the back. Gowns were smoother than the blankets. Fifth he discovered when he move his head to turn it the other way, and pain throbbed through his skull down his neck. He winced, tensing, then relaxed when the throb dulled.

" Crap," he moaned.

" Ample description."

John turned his head back, suffering another throb, and peeled his eyes open. The light urged the throb on, so he snapped his eyes back shut. " Son of a...!"

" Better description," said Kace. " You know what pain feels like to a telepath?"

John, refusing to open his eyes, sighed contentedly when the pain eased. " No, what?"

" Sharp. Pulsing, dancing... kind of alive. Also like a memory. We don't really _feel_ the pain, but know what it's like, you know? Kind of brings the heart rate up too. Very unpleasant."

John gulped back bile trying to burn into his throat. " Try being my skull..." he then groaned, and whimpered, when nausea threatened, spurning his head on to flare back up in pain. " What... What's going on with me? I thought I just got cut." He grimaced, and kept his mouth clamped shut rather than risking anything coming up.

" Infection," Kace explained. " Slapped you with a fever that's knocked you for a loop. You've been out of it a whole day and a half. Panting and sweating for the most part, vomiting once."

The magic words. John's stomach seemed to buck, shoving up the bile, and he lurched to the side in time to expel. Kace had a basin under him at the same time for the brown liquid to stream into. John heaved, the liquid straining out of him until there was nothing left to strain, leaving him with dry heaves that seemed to want to crack his skull open. Tears mingled with sweat on his face, and when the dry heaves ended, he remained hanging over the side panting and shivering, squinting against the glaring lights. Kace stood from the stool and helped ease John back into the bed. John tucked his arms under his chest, shivering hard. He felt cold again, weak, and all around miserable.

" Th-th-that sucked," he whimpered. Kace pulled the covers further up to just below the base of John's head.

" I can honestly agree with you on that. Pain and sickness combined makes you feel like you're being drenched with oil and mud on my end. I think it's high time I brought in Doc Beckett."

Kace moved away from the bed, but didn't stay gone for long. When he reappeared a minute later, Beckett was beside him, pulling out the much despised ear thermometer from his pocket.

" Mr. Kace informs be you had a nasty parting with your last meal," Beckett stated matter of factly. He stuck the thermometer into John's ear, which instigated another spike of throbbing in John's head. When Beckett removed the device, he clucked his tongue.

" A wee bit high, but steady. Headache?"

John closed his eyes, gulping back more threatening bile. " Y-yeah."

" I'll give you somethin' for it, which should help turn the volume down in your stomach. How's your back?"

John hadn't given his back much consideration with everything else hogging his attention, but now that his attention was brought around, he did notice a slight stinging the length of the gash. " Apparently sore."

Carson filled a syringe with contents from a small, glass bottle then injected it into the IV Port. Setting the syringe and bottle aside, he pulled back the covers to John's waist for the cool air to assault John's bare skin, then carefully began removing the cotton bandages and tape from the gash. Even with Carson being gentle with tape removal, his skin still pulled, turning the sting into a burn that had John wincing and digging his nails into the sheet covering the mattress.

" Well, the inflammation isn't as bad as this morning. Stitches are holding. May need cleaning though, but I'll wait until the pain meds kick in. Of course even with the meds it's going to be down right tender."

John felt sweat tickling down his sides, which made him want to laugh considering how cold he felt. Fevers were such schizophrenic SOBs, unable to decide on a single course of action for tormenting the body. They always had to go multifaceted, especially concerning temperature. John was shivering thanks to the sweat drenching every inch of him. Then Beckett – or maybe it was a nurse, he couldn't tell in his massive state of discomfort – began cleaning around the edges of the wound, wiping away sweat and disinfectant ointment. Rolling his eyes up, John saw Beckett hovering over him, placing on the stethoscope. Definitely not Carson doing nurse's work.

Carson placed the stethoscope on John's sides then back, telling him over and over to breathe in and exhale, breathe in and exhale.

" So what have I missed in my day and a half of oblivion?" He said, the words coming out in a moan. The sponge the nurse was using was like ice every time it touched his skin, doubling as a fever reducer.

" Well," Kace said. " This morning a few of your men went back to Raal to see if any assistance was needed. Besides chief Commander, his council, and several soldiers, the fatalities weren't that great. No townsfolk were taken, and they're already setting elections for a new leader. Not only that, they've begun rethinking the whole Chief Judge position. Your boys gave them the advice to elect more than one judge and set them up all over rather than in one spot. They're also rethinking some of their laws and plan to add a few that limits the Chief Commander's power. Oh, and get this, all of Harl's prisoners? They survived. Seems the wraith couldn't figure out how to get through the cells. All in all not a lot of cleanup, just a lot of reestablishing. Oh, and guess who's running for Commander office? McKay's pal, the one he beat up at the bar."

John's head shot up at this. " McKay beat that guy up? Seriously?"

" That's what Ronon told me. Plus I caught a quick peek of the action from McKay himself. Ask him about it sometime. At any rate, Raal's doing good considering. Nothing like near extinction to tidy up a place. Raal's going to be fine. Even better than that, Harl's been banished from the city and banned from the gate, so I doubt you'll be hearing from him again any time soon."

John smirked in satisfaction, setting his head back on the pillow with a contended sigh that became a wince of alarm when the sponge brushed the wound itself.

" Sorry Colonel," said the female voice. The nurse was careful, barely eliciting any pain from the wound.

" Sounds like happy days for all of us," John said.

" Not a bad little adventure I have to admit. Life hasn't been that interesting for me since before I left my home world."

John flicked his eyes up at Kace. Beckett had gone, leaving only John, Kace, and the nurse.

" You really have a talent for saving my ass," John said, " you know that?"

Kace shrugged with an indifference that John didn't believe for a moment, then tapped the side of his head. " Comes with the territory. And besides, you weren't the only one whose 'ass' I was saving. I'm a man who looks out for his own interests if you recall."

John smiled. " Actually, I didn't even know."

Kace waved a dismissive hand. " Ah, that's 'cause I'm getting too soft."

They fell into momentary silence with the only sounds being the heart monitor and the splash of water whenever the nurse resoaked the sponge. She softly patted it along the gash, which felt good seeing as how it was the only area of flesh actually feeling the heat of the fever.

Then Kace cleared his throat. " I uh... I kind of over heard – on the mental ambient – something about... a favor. Or returning a favor... not that I'm expecting it or would ever ask for a favor returned but... what I, uh, kind of overheard, well..."

John furrowed his brow. This was the first time John had ever seen KAce honest to goodness awkward, complete with him rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. It took a moment of thinking to figure out what it was that got Kace so abashed, then John lifted his brow in realization.

It felt like so long ago he'd nearly forgotten. " It's the least we can do," he replied, interrupting Kace's stammering.

Kace dropped his arm, blinking in surprise. " Can it be pulled off? It's a big planet, with my people all over it and the Regime just as scattered."

John moved his head in a nod. " Some battles you win with force, some you win with brains, others with a good bluff and sheer dumb luck. I've got brains contrary to what Rodney insists, and I know how to bluff. Dumb luck shouldn't be required, but regular luck should do the trick."

Kace stared bewildered at John for a moment. Then his face broke into a smile, his voice a chuckle, and he clasped John's fevered shoulder. " I don't doubt your luck, friend Shep. It may not be pretty at first glance, but it seems to come through for you just fine."

The sponge snagged a stitch, making John flinch. " If only I could believe that."

SGA

John scuffed his booted heel into the soft sand below the black seated swing, pushing back then lifting his foot to swing forward. On going back, he jammed his heel into the sand to hold himself for a few seconds before releasing and swinging again. Beside him, a slender women with shoulder length, dark brown hair and wearing a white dress with small yellow flowers pushed at the sand with one bare foot enough to keep her own swing in motion, but barely. She swayed back and forth, digging her toes into the suppled sand before lifting her foot up to spread and wriggle them until the sand fell loose. The playground around them was empty, probably because it was a weekday, or more likely because that's the way John wanted it to be. A soft, cool breeze he actually felt made the leaves of the trees rustle like distant ocean waves, and between the cool was the warmth of the bright sun soaking into the back of his black T-shirt.

" So," John said, putting a little more momentum into his swing to get the chains to groan, " what am I forgetting?"

The woman, smiling, breathed deep the cool air and let the breath out with a sigh.

" Nothing," she pleasantly stated.

John snorted derisively. " Oh come on, mom. There's something. There's always something. Why else would I be here?"

His mother shrugged. " Does there always have to be a reason? Just enjoy the moment, Johnny. You need it. You deserve it. You earned it."

" What I deserve are some answers."

His mother pursed her lips pensively. " True... were there any to give." She then smiled at him. " Honestly, Johnny, there's nothing left. This is nothing more than a moment of clarity, a moment of quiet, that's all." She studied her son's face, her momentum slowing to a stop, and her smile fading. She became sad, and John's heart began to pound, his body growing cold, and his throat tightening off. He wracked his brain for whatever it was he was missing, or purposefully blinding himself to. When his mother's eyes shimmered with moisture, John's heart slammed.

" What?" John said, his voice cracking. " What is it? What am I missing? What am I forgetting?"

A tear rolled down his mother's face. She reached out to him, and began running her fingers through his hair like she used to when he was five. " Oh Johnny..." she said, and her own voice cracked. Then she smiled, sadly, but in a reassuring way. " Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nothing to figure out, nothing to realize, and nothing left to fight. You're free John. Just... let go. It's okay to let go now and then."

She then thumped him on the shoulder with the back of her hand. " Come on, swing with me." She pushed against the ground, swung forward, and pumped her legs to increase the motion.

John shook his head, chuckling sheepishly. " Um..."

" Don't even give me the being 'too old for this' nonsense. You used to love swinging. Said it was like flying. And remember that towel you used to wear like a cape every time we went to the park...?"

John quickly pushed off from the ground. " All right, All right, I'm swinging! Crap, just had to bring that up..."

His mother laughed with a sound that was clear as motionless water. " This is your mind, Johnny. I'm just going with the flow. Would you rather I bring up the time when you were four and insisted on wearing nothing but your underwear...?"

" Mom!" it would have sounded more forceful had John not been struggling against the need to chuckle.

" It was a step up from wanting to be naked, which you also insisted on for a while." The tears were gone, and her bright smile had returned. " Our neighbor Mrs. Carlyle used to comment about how we found you being raised by wolves and that we were trying to integrate you back into human society."

John couldn't hold it back any longer, and let himself laugh, his mother joining him with her softer snickering.

" See?" his mother said breathlessy, stretching her legs on swinging out then tucking them back in, rising higher and higher. They were swinging in time, the breezes becoming wind roaring through their ears, then stopping during that fraction of a second when both became suspended in the air before swinging back. " You are capable of enjoying yourself. It's all right to enjoy moments of peace, John, and to have them. Whatever comes next, whatever happens, these moments do follow. It's just up to you whether or not you take hold of them for all they're worth."

On the next swing forward, now that he was high enough, John jumped from the swing, reveling in the moment of weightlessness.

Then he opened his eyes, and the breeze was replaced by still air, the rushing of leaves a heart monitor, and coolness heat. He closed his eyes in hopes of slipping back into the dream, the dream that he remembered with a clarity that pained him. The image of his mother was the most perfect he had conjured in years, and her smile pricked his heart, making it thump uncomfortably. His eyes stung with tears that he held back by squeezing his eyes tight until they diminished. He pulled in a shuddering breath, and shifted, rolling onto his side because his chest was aching.

He chanced opening his eyes again, gaze going straight to the tray where a plastic pitcher and cup sat. He stretched his arm toward the cup, only to have it taken from him by long, slender fingers, along with the pitcher that was lifted and tilted into the cup. The cup was then placed into Sheppard's reaching hand. He lifted his head and took tentative sips.

" Are you all aright, Colonel Sheppard?"

John nodded as he sipped, then handed the cup back over to her, panting with the monumental effort that needed to be exerted for that one action. " Fantastic. Why?"

" Your face is wet. I thought you might have been crying."

John raised his hands to his face and brushed moisture away with his fingers. He looked at his wet fingertips with raised eyebrows. " Huh." Oddly enough, he didn't feel ashamed about Teyla's awareness of it.

" Bad dream?" She asked.

John shook his head, dropping his hand back onto the mattress. " No. Awesome dream, actually. The kind you never want to wake up from."

Teyla nodded. Always understanding, that Teyla. If anyone had to catch him at crying, he preferred it to be her. He wiped the moisture from his face with the heel of his hand then hunkered down deeper into the blankets when a small draft of air made him shiver.

" So how long has it been now?" he asked. " Sleeping sporadically and passing out a lot kind of makes it hard to differentiate days."

" Three days have passed since our return from Raal. Dr. Beckett says you are showing signs of improvement, though the infection and blood loss has weakened you considerably. He is anxious to get you back on solid food before you lose any of the weight you had managed to gain. He says he does not want to lose you 'slipping down the drain when you next take a shower,' or something along those lines."

John chuckled softly. " Oh man. The only problem with the whole weight gain issue is that the man doesn't seem to know the difference between too thin and slender. So a couple of guys under my command could probably bench press me. That doesn't make me some kind of malnourished wimp. Well, when I'm 'healthy' it doesn't make me a malnourished wimp. I won't argue with his logic on the bad days."

Teyla smiled warmly. " I have never thought of you as such, even on the bad days. You have great strength no matter your condition. Even Ronon has said so."

John lifted his head in surprise. " Ronon, really?" Then dropped it back onto the pillow. " Cool." He smirked. " So you really think I'm strong?"

Teyla smirked back. " If not in body, then in heart. But I have always believed that real strength does not come from muscle and sinew, but from deeper within. It is a strength that enables us to go on with life through tragedy and heartache. It motivates us to survive, to push through." Teyla placed her hand on John's head, and leaned in, lowering her voice. " And it is the reason you are still here with us now."

John smiled at that, his chest warming until his whole body finally stopped twitching from the slightest waft of cool air slinking into any available gaps within the mound of blankets burying him.

Teyla then removed her hand from John's head and sat straighter on the stool, grinning with a spark of what John could have sworn was mischief in her eyes.

" But do not think that strength makes it all right for you to put yourself in danger."

John snorted. " Oh come on. Do you people seriously think I do all that crap on purpose? I mean, yeah, I piss a few people off on occasion, but it's not like I jump up and down screaming 'shoot me.' Hell I could say the same thing about the rest of you. Stop putting yourselves in danger and I wouldn't have to keep hurting my ass saving yours. Or maybe I should be telling this to McKay. Where is he anyways?"

" Getting lunch. He should be back soon."

" And Ronon?"

" Most likely still eating lunch."

John's mouth flooded with saliva. With nausea no longer forming a wall of disgust at the mere mention of food, John's stomach was given free reign to grumble, growl, and slosh hollowly like a child shaking an empty sippy cup for more.

" Actually, lunch sounds good right about now. Any chance..."

" Dr. Beckett had asked Dr. McKay to bring you some soup," Teyla replied, still all grins.

John sighed in relief. " Soup, I could go for soup. I'd rather go for a sandwich, but right now I'm hungry enough for a power bar. So how are our two absent team members?"

Teyla pressed her lips together in a moment of thought. " Quite well, actually. Ronon and I have begun sparring again, and he looks forward to being able to run with you in the mornings. Dr. McKay is... well, there have been fewer complaints about him. And I find him to be far less... sarcastic."

" As compared to when?" John retorted.

Teyla averted her gaze to her lap, and for several drawn out seconds, did not speak. " The time that you were gone..."

John wished that he could sit up, his body suddenly tense and agitated, but way too weak to even allow him to keep his head up.

" Things were not well with us," Teyla went on. " It was difficult for us, all of us but... It was especially difficult for Ronon and Dr. McKay."

John didn't like hearing that, and swallowed nervously. " I thought those two more than anyone knew good and well that there could come a time when I'm not around anymore."

" That does not mean they would accept it. It was more than just your absence. We searched for you, and the more we searched, the harder it became. Having you back... No one wishes to think about such possibilities, not with you here, now, safe. Besides, as you have said, you could say the same for the rest of us. There could come a time when we are not around anymore. But do you dwell on that as well?"

" I'd rather not."

" There are some things best not pondered. Acknowledged, yes, but not dwelt upon."

John curled his thin fingers into the mattress. " I wouldn't let you guys go."

" And we wouldn't let you go."

John smiled and rolled his eyes back up to Teyla. " Then it's all good. Especially seeing as how we're all still here, on the mend, one way or another."

Teyla nodded, and leaned in some with her elbows on her knees. " How are your memories?"

John rolled his eyes up as he turned inward, sifting through thoughts, bad and good, to see what they conjured, testing his brain. " Clear as glass and obedient as an old dog. I haven't thought this clearly since... well, obviously before Harl got that device on me."

" Do you remember anything of your capture?"

John shrugged. " Bits and pieces, kind of like a bad dream, except bad dreams don't make me shudder when I remember them. Some stuff I'm recalling clearly, bad stuff, painful. Other stuff... I can't really explain it. Weird stuff, like real dreams, but not bad or anything. I try to remember but, I want to remember... Whatever it was, it was good, and that's all I know, because it doesn't make my gut twist every time I try to think back on that particular... um... whatever it is... was."

" And you do not know what this 'good' was?"

John shook his head, furrowing his brow as he again tried to pull to the surface fleeting images the antithesis of his experience on Raal. " I wish I could..."

Teyla reached out and put her hand on John's arm. " You were alone, in pain, confused. I believe there will be many memories you will be unable to recall. But does it really matter?"

John shrugged again. " I suppose not. But it'd be nice to have something good to remember. It's like... I don't know. Being in pain's the big thing I remember. I mean, kind of hard not to. But alone?"

The infirmary doors slid open, and McKay, Ronon, and Elizabeth came in with McKay carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a glass of milk.

" It's weird... because... it doesn't feel like I was ever alone."

SGA

A/N: Now all that is left is the epilogue.


	23. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Closer time.

A/N: Closer time.

I would also like to respond to a particular comment that I was unable to respond to concerning John and being skinny (you know who you are). I agree with you on what you said. Heck, most of my original characters tend to be little guys - little guys that shouldn't be messed with. But in ch. 22, John is still recovering, and in fact has relost much of his strength thanks to infection. John hates being weak, is embarrassed by his state, and Teyla's talk concerning strength of the heart was to help him feel better in that moment, as well as for future moments when John isn't as strong as he once was because of illness or torture, and not because she thinks he's never physically strong. And don't forget, there's still the belief that bigger is better, and that one is only strong when they 'look' strong, or in other words have big muscles, which causes many to underestimate the slender guy. Though the gang's teasing John about being skinny isn't necessarily calling him a wimp, chances are it's giving him a bit of an inferiority complex, especially when he's around the bigger, more muscled Ronon. I may have to do a story concerning that concept. Anyways, I hope you weren't thinking I was calling John a wimp just because he's slender. I know he's not. He's just not up to his usual strength at the moment, and that bothers him.

Epilogue

The slave party wasn't impressive. Fifteen men dressed in leathers, armed with rifles akin to what might have been used during the American Revolution, and surrounding a bedraggled group of telepaths, joined at the neck by chains like a chain gang. The party slowed on sighting their destination suddenly blocked by about twenty marines spread out before the gate, and two puddle jumpers hovering over head. When the party neared, every soldier lifted his P-90, not to aim, just to put the weapons within visual range.

John's heart beat light and fast, surging adrenaline through his veins with each pump. He gripped his P-90 until he was white knuckled to hide the shaking in his hands the product of too much energy vibrating his body with small electrical surges. He was excited- no, elated. Probably not the appropriate attitude to have, but he was back in the field, about to give a bunch of slavers the scare of their lives, so he really didn't care and allowed him self to grin like the hyena at the antelope.

He also didn't care that he probably didn't hold any sort of imposing appearance. He had Ronon, standing next to him, to act the imposing part. John was healthy, had his strength back, regained muscle, but was still a few pounds under what he used to be, with clothes a tad extra baggy on him (not that any clothes he'd ever worn had been anything but baggy on him to begin with).

So he knew good and well that his appearance wasn't screaming 'be afraid, be very afraid.' That was what marines, weapons, jumpers and a glowering Satedan were for.

The slave runners, when even closer, exchanged uncertain looks, then shouts in an unknown language, bringing their weapons around. They stopped with fifteen feet of space between them and the Atlanteans. A tall, broad shouldered but wiry man with long ratty brown hair and a thick beard stepped forward.

" Who be ye, strangers!" he shouted in a snarl, blue eyes flashing hot with fury. " Stand aside now!" The slave runners lifted their rifles, so the Atlanteans lifted their P-90s.

" I don't think that's gonna happen, pal," John said. " How about we calm down, lower our weapons, and have a nice little chat about all those people you got hooked together."

" They are ours, stranger! Find your own!"

John held up single finger. " Except we don't want to find any. We want you to let those poor folks go. Then we want you to get the hell off our planet and never come back. This world is now under the protection of... The United States Air Force." John had been quite tempted to say Atlantis, but Atlantis' continuing existence was still a secret that needed to be kept. " And as such, you're officially trespassing on our soil. So I suggest you let _our_ new citizens go, and beat it before one of my men decides to get trigger happy."

The bearded man's lip curled into a sneer. " What claim right do ye have? This is the territory of the Regime, belonging to his Lordship Kess. If you wish to take it from us, then you will have to come up against us!"

Ronon snorted and shook his head. John shrugged.

" I've got no problem with that." He looked at Ronon? " You?"

Ronon grinned and fingered the trigger of his weapon. " Not the least."

John then looked at Major Lorne. " Major?"

" No sir."

" Think a demonstrations in order?"

Also sporting a hyena grin, Lorne raised his hand to the radio at his ear and tapped it. " Jumper three. Lock, load, and let'er rip."

The drone pod emerged from the side of the right hand jumper, and a drone went streaking off over the heads of the slavers, landing in a spectacular explosion like a mini mushroom cloud of fire a safe distance away. The slave runners cringed, backpeddling away and gibbering wildly. The bearded man turned back to stare at John wide eyed and pale.

John simpered. " Wasn't that cool? Now that the fireworks are over, what say you and I talk? I've got a message I need you to send to your boss Kess."

SGA

John watched Kace hang back momentarily as the now liberated telepaths reunited with their caravan and families. Kace's people reminded John of gypsies with their large wooden wagons pulled by creatures that looked like horse-sized T-Rex's with horns. The women dressed in large skirts and shirts of dark, rich colors, and the men in clothes similar to Kace's, just as dusty and frayed. The telepaths hardly spoke out loud, just stared at eachother, wide-eyes flooding with tears, and heads occasionally nodding. After a moment of silent exchange, Kace came forward, ensuing in more silent conversation with a barrel chested man as bald-headed as Kace, and with a beard stopping just at the collar bones. Telepath faces turned to join in on the mental thread of conversation, and those same faces eventually altered gazes again to land on Sheppard.

Sheppard could undeniably say that these people's eyes penetrated, and he could have sworn he felt something brush across his brain like a breeze across hot, sweat-slicked skin. After another two minutes of mental talk, the bearded man waved the Atlanteans over while also meeting them halfway.

" Greetings," he called. " I'm Rolth and on behalf of the Ordalla clan we welcome you... and thank you for all that you have done."

John smiled and opened his mouth.

But not before Rolth jumped right in. " No, no need for modesty, and we are in your debt even if you don't think as much." He then chuckled. " I mean, I've heard tell that no good deed goes unrewarded, but I've never seen the likes of someone putting an entire people under their protection."

John shrugged, nonchalant to the core. " I owe Kace my life. How else do you repay that kind of favor?"

Rolth crossed his arms over his broad chest and nodded solemnly. " Good point." He then gestured at John with a casual flick of his hand. " You've got quite a collection of suffering there, if you don't mind my saying so."

John shrugged again. " Comes with the job even if it isn't in the job description."

Again, Rolth gave John another solemn nod, and both fell silent since nothing more needed to be said. Camaraderie had been officially established, so no reason to drag talk out in idle chatter.

" Stay for a feast?" Rolth then asked

John glanced over his shoulder at the men who'd accompanied them in returning the telepaths to their clan. Shrugs and casual nods, with Ronon shifting to try and hide his perking reaction to the word 'feast.' John looked back at Rolth.

" I think I don't need to say it out loud. Just give us a moment to report back, get the word to our leader. She's big on making friends."

A half an hour later saw Elizabeth, McKay, Beckett and several other scientists and military personnel coming in by jumper. Gifts were brought- namely chocolate and ice-cream plus milk (per Kace's request). The soldiers already present were still aiding in setting things up by throwing blankets out on the grassy ground or setting up wooden chairs that had the ability to fold flat when kicked just right.

John walked over to the approaching party with his arms stretched to either side of himself. " See McKay? Not a scratch."

Rodney shook his head and pointed at Carson. " I'll take _his_ word for it."

" Not a scratch, Rodney," Beckett said right off. But stopped before the Colonel all the same, looking him over. " Any other ailments? Dizziness, fatigue..?"

" Actually I'm still in the middle of an adrenaline rush, so I'll let you know after it's over."

Carson patted John's shoulder. " Knowin' you, it won't be over for another week. Just get plenty of food in you and I'll be content."

With that said, Carson moved on to join the quiet, chatty fray. Rodney, however, had stopped and was looking pale faced with overwhelming apprehension.

" My gosh, are they _all_ mind readers?"

John gritted his teeth in a mock grimace and sucked in his breath. " Yeah McKay, sorry. Better be careful what you think or these people might end up liking you enough to want to be in your head all the time."

McKay gulped. " Can I go home?"

John looked skyward in a pensive matter. " Um, no." Then gave Rodney a gentle shove in the shoulder to send him stumbling haltingly toward the awaiting telepaths. Now only Elizabeth was left. John grinned at her, rocking back and forth on his heels, and Elizabeth smiled back.

" Haven't seen that in a while," she said.

" Seen what?"

" That smile. All that fidgeting."

" What can I say," John folded his hands behind his back as he continued to rock, adding a small bounce to it. " I'm a happy, fidgety guy."

Elizabeth started moving again, and John fell into step beside her.

" I can imagine," she said. " Back on duty, making friends, saving planets... People are always happiest when they're in their element."

" And no one even had to get shot," John said with relish. " A fine days work."

" A very fine days work. But will it remain permanent?"

" Kace thinks so. He said those slavers were practically wetting their pants trying to get through the gate, and that the Regime's weaponry is matches compared to our inferno, or something like that. But we still need to keep at least one jumper around in case they go desperate or something. Couple of weeks give or take, on shifts. That should do it."

Fires dotted the meadow, with meat roasting on spits or stews in black pots. Friendly conversation was being engaged between Atlanteans and telepaths, most of what the Atlanteans were saying being interrupted by the telepaths. Children were running around, laughing, squealing, with a gaggle trailing Rodney like cats going for the ones always allergic to them. Rodney was stiff with agitation and trying not to show it. Probably trying not to think as well. Kace was standing before a rickety wooden table covered in tin cups, dumping in scoops of ice-cream, adding the milk, mixing it all up with a spoon, then handing it out to the telepaths all with Ronon and Teyla's help.

" You did right here, John," Elizabeth said.

John beamed, puffing his chest out some. " Glad you let me go then?"

Elizabeth lifted one shoulder in a shrug that rustled her jacket. " I suppose there's no reason to deny it. Yes, I'm glad I let you go."

Then she added. " As long as you always come back."

SGA

John and Kace sat outside the edge of the quieting festivities to stare out over the short-grassed plains to where horizon met the colored mantel that trailed the now vanished sun. Above the colors was the velvet soft darkness pricked with a thick spread of stars of varying enough sizes to give the sky depth. The two men had their legs pulled up enough to rest their arms over their knees, Kace's hands dangling loose, but John's hands loosely clasped. Kace lifted one hand to gesture vaguely at the sky.

" You've been up there, Shep. How's the stargazing?"

John craned his neck back to look straight up. " Endless. Plus you tend to get a little lost if the navigations on a jumper stops working. Stars don't like to stay in one place when you're off planet." John righted his neck in order to glance over his shoulder. People were already helping in the cleanup efforts.

" So soon?" Kace asked. John returned to looking at the horizon.

" Well, had to come eventually. I'm looking forward to a little down time that doesn't involve an infirmary stay." He looked at Kace. " What about you?"

The telepath shrugged, then did another casual lift of his hand. " I'd say to the horizon with me, but... been here, seen that."

John rocked back, then forward. " What, no staying on your nice safe world?"

Kace chuckled and twitched his head. " Don't get me wrong, friend Shep. There's no sufficient thanks for what you've done. But the thing is – and I know I've told you this – I'm not a man who can plant his feet in one spot and stay there. That includes planets. Now, I'll probably be staying a bit to spread the word, get the liberation news out, maybe visit some kin. But after that..." he clicked his tongue, lifted his hand, shaped his fingers into the likeness of a gun, and pointed it in the direction of the gate. " It's off to another rock with me."

" Continuing the pursuit of your 'career'?"

Kace looked over at John with a cat like smirk and amused spark in his eye. " I've a mind to perfect the business. But my last endeavors have made me a momentarily rich man, and I intend to collect. There's an address to a paradise planet I'd like to find, or maybe whatever comes close. Maybe when I find it I'll drop you an invite."

" What about our mainland? Still up for tackling that?"

Kace shrugged. " Eventually. Perhaps I'll invest in proper exploration equipment instead. It's all up for grabs, Shep. I go where I go, and sometimes even I don't know where that is. It's who I am, you know? A wanderer. And that's the way I like it. But don't think this night the last you'll be seeing of me. You've proven too interesting for permanent goodbyes. Plus you're fun when your head's clear. That.. uh... wave riding thing..."

" Surfing?"

" Yeah. Now that looks worth a go." Kace chuckled again with a shake of his head. " Your minds a world to explore in and of itself Shep. But far be it from me to pry."

John snorted out a laugh. " Okay, whatever."

Kace reacted with mock hurt. " Hey, I really do try. Not my fault you bring out the curious in me."

" Hey Sheppard!"

John looked back to see McKay approaching only to stop and jerk his thumb over his shoulder. " Pack up. Weir says it's time to head home."

" And none too soon from the way Doc McKay seems fit to explode," Kace said.

Both men rose onto their feet, dusting grass and dirt from their pants.

" Time for so longs and see yous then," Kace said.

John still didn't like it. His mind coherent, his body mended, and life resuming a rhythm he could call next to normal, there was still a quiet spot at the back of his mind – like residue – that begged like a petulant child for John to convince Kace to stay. It was all that was left for John to shove aside, but not without a pang of regret. John held out his hand to Kace.

" I always prefer see ya. Less permanent."

Smiling, Kace took John's proffered hand, then pulled the slimmer man into a quick embrace with a pat on the back. It was sudden, which made it even more awkward, but John returned the embrace. When Kace released him, he kept his hands firmly planted on John's shoulders.

" You really are a good guy Shep. The kind of guy I'm glad to call a friend. So it's safe to say it was worth hauling your skinny hind end from that pit."

" It was worth following you, even if I didn't realize what I was doing at the time."

Kace inclined his head then dropped his hands. " Take care of yourself friend John."

John smiled. " I'll try."

Kace clapped John on the shoulder, then broke into a trot heading for the circled caravan. John watched the telepath go, the petulant child voice silent in the back of his mind, leaving his thoughts his and only his, under his control. He then turned and headed the other way to the jumpers already being loaded with Atlantean personnel. His team was waiting for him, oddly smaller with Kace not there, but he'd get used to it. Kace had his own world – worlds – he belonged to.

" Nice heartfelt goodbye?" McKay sniped. " Certainly took you long enough. What were you doing, exchanging e-mail addresses?"

" Play nice, McKay," Ronon said, and they headed into the jumper.

" Not until we get home where I can think in peace. Seriously, Sheppard, you really know how to pick'em when making new friends. Ancients and mind readers. What next, vegetarian wraith?"

Rodney continued to ramble, and John's brain immediately tuned him out, which made John smile. He had forgotten what it was like, being able to do that, and suddenly everything felt absolutely balanced in the world. It gave John the ridiculous urge to start humming some upbeat little tune, but he countered it by settling for grabbing Rodney in a brief hug.

" Oh Rodney," he said in a heavily sugar coated voice, " don't ever change."

Rodney went rigid as a rail. " What the...! Colonel! Anti touchy-feely here! Seriously, if You don't lay off I will not be held responsible if the door to your quarters malfunctions in a way that has you trapped inside. I know how to do it."

John released Rodney, raising both hands in the air as he made his way to the front of the jumper, turning to face McKay while walking backward. " Whatever, McKay. But I mean it, don't ever change." John plopped himself into the pilot's chair. " You ever got nice, I'd have nothing to do to keep me occupied."

Rodney snorted. " I think I'm starting to miss it when you were insane."

" I thought you said I've always been insane?"

" The good, quiet insane."

The jumper lighted up, and the bay doors hummed close. When the jumper lifted pointing toward the starry sky, a surge of contentment filled John.

" You don't mean that," John said, too happy to even consider getting offended.

Rodney didn't reply, which broadened John's grin. One did not need telepathic abilities to read Rodney McKay.

The End

A/N: Nooow it's over. I'm a little sad while at the same time a little relieved. This story had been quite the little devil to write.

I thank you all for your many reviews, the most I have received for any story, which must indeed mean I'm doing something right. I'm glad it was so enjoyed, and I hope this epilogue satisfies concerning Kace's situation. I know many of you wanted this ending to be a separate story involving a whole new adventure, but truth be told I may not tackle another long work for a while. One shots and shorter stuff I'll be doing, but nothing extremely multi-chaptered. I really need to tackle one of my original stories. They're feeling neglected.

So I thank ye again for sticking with me and making my day after day after day. It's been a fun romp through the land of whump. TTFN y'all.


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